A Summer of Refuge
by xForeversEndx
Summary: It's the summer between 5th and 6th year. Rather than accept the task set to him by Voldemort, Draco rejects the Dark Lord. In an effort to keep him safe, Dumbledore sends him to stay with the Dursley's. During Harry and Draco's forced time together, secrets come out that will change their lives forever. Self-Harm, Eating Disorders, Slash.
1. Chapter 1

It was an unusually cool morning for June. Dull, grey clouds hung heavily in the sky, making the air thick, and wet, and though the sun had not entirely risen, one could already tell that rain was beginning to the form in the firmament above the pristinely manicured lawns of Privet Drive, and the equally stuffy neighbourhoods that surrounded it. At present, all members of number 4 slept – some more soundly than others – unaware of the goings on outside. An owl – a large white one, named Hedwig – was the first to become aware of a possible disturbance. Hearing rustlings coming from the lawn below, she let out a loud, screeching hoot, and began attempting to peck at the window from within her cage. On the bed, a boy stirred.

"Urgh… Hedwig… Hedwig, hush, you'll wake the Dursleys!" Awoken by the owl, Harry Potter groped about blindly for a moment on the nightstand beside him before he caught hold of his glasses and then shoved them, crudely, onto his face. "Hedwig!"

Climbing – unsteadily – to his feet, Harry half walked, half stumbled, across the threshold of the small room, and peered groggily out the window at the street below. Swearing beneath his breath at the realization that it was not quite sunrise, he nearly missed the sight of a tall, thin, bearded figure as it crossed the driveway of Number 4, headed – unmistakably – toward the front door of the house. What was more, the tall, thin figure was not alone. It was accompanied instead by another thin figure, wearing dark robes, and an immediately recognizable shock of platinum white hair, which could be seen even through the half-darkness of the morning.

Harry assumed, momentarily, that he was dreaming. After all, it had only been a fortnight since he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer. He had had no contact at all with Dumbledore since he had gotten on the train and – besides all that – if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, it appeared that the person who was accompanying him was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell?" Harry heard himself mutter. Before he could contemplate any further what was happening, the sound of a doorbell rang out. There was silence for a few moments – in which Harry questioned, again, whether he was dreaming – and then the bell again echoed off the walls of the previously silent home. Down the hall, Uncle Vernon swore, loudly. Angry, booming footsteps rumbled in the hall and then down the stairs. Allowing curiosity to get the better of him, Harry waited a moment before following his uncle down the stairs, stopping at the kitchen, so he could see the door without having to be a part of the action.

What he saw before him was surreal. Despite all the evidence to the contrary he thought for the third time that he must be dreaming. Uncle Vernon was standing, his face the usual color of angry violet, with a wide, (Harry supposed) intimidating pose. He had spread himself out wide so that his large, unrobed, potato-shaped body very nearly eclipsed the entire doorway. Harry could see the outlines of his mustache as it quivered.

"How dare you arrive at my doorstep at such an hour?!" He was screaming, "Have you no decency?! And dressed like a ruddy lunatic! The neighbours will be on our case for weeks!" The person at whom Uncle Vernon was yelling was, indeed, Albus Dumbledore. He stood, catching sight of Harry and offering half-smile, with a patient and unperturbed expression. He waited quietly for Uncle Vernon to be finished shouting, and then said, quite quietly:

"I do apologize for the early arrival, Mr. Dursley, but I can't help but think: If the neighbors are your concern would it be exactly prudent to be speaking at such a level? I daresay you are right in that none of us are properly attired for the occasion." He nodded toward Uncle Vernon who for a moment did not understand. Following the direction of Dumbledore's gaze, he saw – for what seemed like the first time – that his robe remained open, exposing his knickers to the darkened street beyond. Flushing an even deeper shade of plum, one that Harry had never seen before, he snapped the opening shut with his fist. Harry found himself wishing that he could see his face more clearly. His response was marked by a distinct choking quality, as though someone were holding him by the throat.

"I – this is my house and I shall dress how I damn well please! I was asleep, I'll have you know!" His head cocked from side to side as though he were checking the street for neighbors. "What do you want?" He barked.

Harry had shifted his gaze from Dumbledore now, and was instead closely studying Malfoy, who was standing slightly behind the headmaster. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His back – usually straight and confident – curled in as though he were trying to make himself as small as possible. His usually immaculate blonde hair was disheveled and dark, and heavy bags were weighing down his eyes. He seemed thinner than Harry had ever seen him. Harry didn't think that Malfoy could see him from where he stood, and for this he was grateful. Aunt Petunia joined into the commotion, approaching Uncle Vernon and standing at his shoulder.

"Oh. Its you." She said, when she had caught sight of Dumbledore. Dumbledore merely smiled, pleasantly.

"Good morning, ma'am. I was just explaining to your husband that I must ask to speak with both of you inside. As it seems, the daylight is rising, and we wouldn't want to raise unwelcome questions from your neighbors." Very reluctantly, Aunt Petunia agreed, and stepped aside to allow them in. With a quick intake of breath, Harry ducked behind the doorway of the kitchen. Had he been seen?

Dumbledore strode down the hallway, looking odd and out of place in such an ordinary household, and Malfoy trailed, slumpingly, behind him.

The four of them headed into the living room, and Harry, transitioning from one kitchen door to the other, stood on the other side of the entryway and listened.

"Who's this?" Grunted Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard his strained noises as he struggled to lower himself onto the couch.

"This," said Professor Dumbledore, pleasantly, "is Draco Malfoy. He's a schoolmate of Harry's."

"W-wait, what? Harry who?" Were the situation not so entirely bizarre, Harry would have laughed at the note of panic in Malfoy's voice. Even without seeing his face, it was clear that he had been unaware of just exactly who lived at Number 4 Privet Drive. He was so busy wondering why Dumbledore would have kept this from Malfoy that he very nearly missed the next thing that was said.

"I'm unsure how up to date your nephew has been keeping you on the goings on of the wizarding world, Petunia," Said Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter? Are you talking about Harry Potter?" Malfoy's voice cut into the conversation. "You're joking, right professor?"

"but there has been a very dark turn of events as of late," continued Dumbledore, as though Malfoy had not spoken. "and it appears that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned."

"Professor!"

"Mr. Malfoy, here has had the unfortunate luck of being born into a family who are proving themselves to be adamant supporters of Lord Voldemort, and in the early hours of this morning, he made it clear to his kin that he had no intention of following in their footsteps." Harry was now listening so intently to the conversation that he nearly fell forward through the swinging door and into the living room. Malfoy denounced the Death Eaters? He had defied his family? This had to be a trap, hadn't it? How could Dumbledore believe this?

"Professor, Harry Potter?"

"Yes, boy!" Boomed Uncle Vernon's voice, suddenly. "And I'll ask you not to remind us! The adults are talking and in this house, your mouth will remain shut!" Malfoy stopped talking. Harry couldn't resist a smirk, as it spread across his face. "What does this have to do with us?" Snapped Uncle Vernon.

"Well…" began Dumbledore slowly. "As it is not safe for Draco to remain at home, the safest place for him is here, under the protections already put in place in order to guard Harry." It was difficult to tell who was more outraged by the statement. A cacophony of complaint rang out from within the living room; Uncle Dursley's infuriated growl, Malfoy's incredulous shout that Dumbledore had to have lost his mind, Aunt Petunia's indignant protest, and Harry's own shout of:

"No, Professor, please!"

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Said Dumbledore, brightly. Harry looked around, feeling dazed. He hadn't realized that he had stormed into the living room. Both Dursleys stared at him with expressions of scandal, as though he had stormed into a wedding ceremony and ruined the entire thing. Malfoy, pink faced and appearing on the verge of tears glared at him from his positon beside Dumbledore, who turned to address the entire group. "This arrangement is ideal for no one." The words were uttered with an air of finality. "Unfortunately, there are no other alternatives in which Mr. Malfoy would remain safe. The boy will stay here." He turned to Harry.

"Harry, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Malfoy the guest room? Your aunt and uncle and I have a few more things we must discuss." Though phrased as one, Harry could tell that this was not a question. Grumbling to himself, he gestured at Malfoy, signaling him to follow. Malfoy did, giving him a look that suggested he did not trust him at all.

"This way, Malfoy. Up the stairs. Let's go." He bounded roughly upstairs without checking to see if Malfoy was keeping up. He felt as though his head had been filled with steam. It was only June. Summer had only just begun, and now, on top of spending it with the Dursleys, he had to spend it with Malfoy, too?

"I'm sorry this is an inconvenience for you, Potter." Drawled Malfoy, behind him. "But I thought you'd be thrilled I'm not a bloody Death Eater." The venom with which Malfoy said these last two words stood out to Harry, who snapped in his direction,

"Yeah, Malfoy? And how am I supposed to know you're not just planted here to get to me?" Malfoy glared.

"Dumbledore is the one that brought me here, Potter. Are you saying you don't trust your precious headmaster?" Harry had no answer for this. "And what's more, scarface, I had no idea you even lived here before 10 minutes ago, so why don't you start thinking before you open that big mouth of yours!"

Rage suddenly surging through his body like lava, Harry stopped dead at the top of the stairs. Malfoy bumped into him and swore.

"You know what, Malfoy?" He barked. "Fuck you. You can stay in my old bedroom." Malfoy rolled his eyes and was about to make a comment when Harry took a hard grip about his wrist and began dragging him back down the stairs.

"Argh! Let go of me! Potter let go of me right now; you're hurting me!"

"Stop being so dramatic, Malfoy." Snapped Harry. "You're fine." They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Dragging Malfoy to the cupboard that he had slept in for the first 10 years of his life, he reached out a hand, yanked it open, and shoved Malfoy inside. He slammed the door, leaning the whole of his weight against it so he couldn't shove his way back out.

"Potter! Potter, when I get ahold of you you're going to regret it! Potter please!" Malfoy's voice was beginning to hold a note of panic. Harry glanced nervously in the direction of the living room door; any minute now his aunt and uncle and maybe even Professor Dumbledore would storm in and hand it to him for locking Malfoy in the cupboard. "Potter, please! Potter you've got to let me out!"

A booming thunder sounded from the wooden stairs. Harry froze. Catching him off guard, in one, huge, push, Malfoy freed himself of the cupboard. He fell forward, causing Harry to collapse to the ground beneath his weight.

"Argh! Get off me! What's wrong with you?" Harry looked up into Malfoy's face. His blonde hair was matted by sweat and stuck in places to his forehead, which – like the rest of his face – had turned a bright red. Malfoy didn't seem to be in his right mind. He scrambled, messily, trying to climb to his feet, but his hand slipped beneath him and he fell, hard, on top of Harry again. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated, and as he searched for a hand-hold, Harry saw that his fingers were shaking. Before he could think much more of this, however, Malfoy was suddenly gone. The weight of him was removed so quickly and completely that Harry nearly choked on his next breath, finding it so deep and full of air that it caught him off guard. He quickly identified what had been the cause of Malfoy's sudden departure.

"This your boyfriend, freak show?" Towering above Harry, the back of Malfoy's robes bunched up tightly in his hand, was Dudley. And he was angry. "You woke me up, you fairy freak!" He growled. "I don't like to be up before noon on Saturdays and you know that!" Harry pushed himself into an upright position and began to climb to his feet. Malfoy appeared to have frozen. A look of fearful disbelief was written on his face, and – to Harry's surprise – he said and did nothing to his own defense. Then again, thought Harry, this could be the first time in Malfoy's life that he had ever been picked on by someone bigger than him. He didn't know what do. Perhaps this situation would be good for him.

"No, Diddykins," laid out Harry through gritted teeth. He was feeling just as angry as Dudley looked. "He is not my boyfriend. He's not even my friend. In fact, I hate him." Harry tried to pull his wand, but found that it was not in his pocket. Malfoy closed his eyes, looking oddly as though he were simply waiting for his fate. "I'm just as angry about this situation as you are so how bout you go find a nice 6 year old to pick on and leave me the fuck alone before I curse you so you can't eat shit but lettuce for a week." His voice came out low, even, and threatening enough that Dudley released the back of Malfoy's sweater, shoving him hard into Harry.

"You best keep your boyfriend away from my stuff." Dudley growled. He then galumphed his way into the kitchen, seeming to decide that – if he had to be awake – he may as well take the time to eat. Jumping away from Harry as though he had been given an electric shock, Malfoy forced a hostile expression on his face and opened his mouth like was going to say something, but Harry cut him.

"Shut it, Malfoy." Some of the disgust he was feeling toward Dudley had begun to seep over onto Malfoy. "Getting kicked around will probably do you some good anyway. See what it feels like for a change. Come on, lets go. Before Dumbledore tries to get involved." He started back up the stairs. As they climbed, Malfoy made a few more visible attempts to speak, his grey eyes staring at Harry with an unusual shiny quality to them that Harry had never seen in Malfoy before. As they reached the landing, he finally found the words, and they were not at all what Harry had been expecting.

"You used to sleep in there?" His voice sounded odd. Harry stopped, feeling incredibly annoyed.

"Yes, Malfoy." He answered, irritably. "From the time I was a baby until just before first year. You want to compare it to the broom cupboards in your glorious mansion?" Malfoy took a step backwards now, all hostility having drained from his expression.

"Who was that boy?" He asked. "That grabbed me?" It struck Harry that Malfoy's voice sounded different. Perhaps it was missing the usual bored drawl or the snide aggression that he was used to hearing, but standing here on the landing Harry felt as though he were having this conversation with a stranger. Somewhere between here and the bottom of the stairs, Malfoy had changed.

"My cousin." Replied Harry shortly. "Dudley. Lovely, isn't he? Get ready because he'll be calling you a faggot all summer, now. Come on." He lead Malfoy down hall, showing him each room, and warning him not to go near any of the Dursley's if he could possibly help it. They reached his own, and Malfoy eyed the cat flap in the door.

"I didn't know you had a cat." He said. Harry wished he would stop talking. This was not a subject he wished to be discussing with him.

"I don't." He didn't elaborate, and to his relief Malfoy didn't ask him to.

They reached the guest room and Harry turned on the light. To his mild surprise, a Slytherin House trunk sat beneath the window, clearly conjured there by Dumbledore in anticipation of their arrival.

"And this is you." Said Harry enthusiastically. "And since I was also woken up by your appearance here, I'll be going back to bed now." He didn't wait for Malfoy to give a reply. He closed the guest room door behind him and went back into his own room, hoping, vainly, that this entire morning would turn out to be a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stood numbly in the middle of the room. The sound of the door slamming shut was still echoing off the caverns of his skull. He had seen more in the past day than he even knew how to begin to process. He became vaguely aware of a small, frilly bed in the corner of the room, and – without really feeling his legs – he moved to sit on it.

He felt unreal. Not 24 hours ago, he had sat at the long, handsome, formal dining table in the halls of Malfoy Manor, attempting to tune out the sounds of his father going on about the Dark Lord and his plans for his future. He recalled feeling nauseous, continually. Vomiting nearly every time tried to eat anything at all. He had begun losing weight so fast that – as he sat on the bed – his trousers hung loosely around his hips.

Of course, his father had taken this as a sign of weakness. Dinnertime became a torturous occasion, as Lucius Malfoy insisted that he must eat his full share – a man's share, if he ever expected to become a useful servant to the Dark Lord. He had sat upright in his large, ornately carved four-poster bed every night for so long that exhaustion had over taken every muscle in his body. He couldn't force himself to sleep, and on the rare occasions that he did, he was plagued with nightmares that were even worse than the things which he witnessed when awake.

Draco licked his lips. His mouth was dry. His head pounded a drumbeat in his skill, and it seemed like could feel his blood rush from one end of his body to the other. The now familiar feeling of nausea hung, a dull, droning presence, which hummed quietly in the background like cicadas on a summer day.

He had been drunk, he thought, dully. His father had made him knock back a few shots of whisky after dinner.

"Like a man, Draco." He had said. And Draco, whom had kept little in his system for at least a fortnight, had lost control more quickly than he had ever expected. Even now, as he sat on the pink bedspread in Harry Potter's house, his memory of the night before rose in thick, unclear, cloud-like pieces. The only thing of the event that Draco could remember clearly was that he had shouted at his father. And somewhere in all the shouting, he had announced to everyone in the dining room that he did not want to be a Death Eater. And that was that. There was a whir of more shouting, a couple bright flashes of curses being thrown, a few moments or a few hours of extreme pain, and then oblivion. He awoke in a St. Mungo's cot and Albus Dumbledore was staring down at him in concern.

Draco looked around and took in his surroundings fully for the first time. He was sitting in a small, girlishly decorated room, with a greenish-blue carpet, pink baseboards, and a wall, which was painted a greyish-blue that he couldn't quite find a word for. The furniture looked antique, with pale-pink and blue flowers painted ornately on the wooden sides. The was an old lamp with a shade made of colored glass, a pink circular woven rug, a few floral paintings, and tall standing vase in the corner. Aside from the digital alarm clock on one of the end tables, he could be sitting in the guest room of a 1950s housewife. The color scheme made him gag, but everything else about the place was positively cozy, compared with the cold, cavernous chambers of Malfoy Manor.

He thought about Potter's aunt and uncle; some of the most unpleasant people whom Draco had ever met. Potter's cousin, who picked him up and threw him around like a ragdoll. The cupboard in which Potter had supposedly lived in for ten long years. His head was spinning. Draco had always assumed that Potter had lived a charmed life. Sure, he had known his parents were dead, obviously, but it had never occurred to him that the muggles with whom Harry lived would be so terrible. He had always been so jealous of Potter, without ever realizing that his home life was only scarcely better than his own. A vague sense of guilt washed through him at this thought.

And what did this mean for _him_? For a brief moment, he had been excited to leave the Manor, to escape from the hands of his father and his constant threats. Until Dumbledore rang the doorbell of Number 4, Privet Drive, he had thought he was going somewhere where he would be treated kindly. He thought maybe, perhaps, Dumbledore was taking him someplace where the sight of him wouldn't be a disgust or disappointment to every person he came across. Instead, he was here. Trapped in a muggle house, with muggle occupants who clearly hated the sight of him, the very idea of him. And the only other wizard in the house, the only person who could do something to alleviate his loneliness, was the person who hated him most of all. Harry fucking Potter.

A dark, heavy gloom settled over Draco like a thick, wet blanket, sending an invasive chill through his body that had little to do with the temperature of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his shoes. He tried to think of something positive, like the return to school, but thoughts of his housemates swam into view, and the heavy feeling only increased. Something wet hit his hand. He was crying.

Draco wiped the moisture onto the back of his hand and stared at it. It slowly went out of focus as his grey eyes filled with a fresh wave of tears. It was an odd sight. He couldn't remember the last time that he had actually cried. Crying was for the weak. Father would never stand for it.

Something about this thought hit Draco like a brick. An almost panicked sense of despair blossomed in his gut and traveled slowly up his throat, escaping through his mouth in the form of a sob. More sobs soon followed and Draco collapsed sideways onto the bed, burying his crumpled face in the frilly pink pillow. The last time he had cried like this, he had been 7 years old. He had fallen off his broomstick, and while he wailed, his mother had sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. Draco remembered it clearly, because after he had calmed down his father had taken him aside and admonished him, explaining that he was far too old to cry like that again. It was the last time he allowed his mother to comfort him, and it was the last time she ever did.

Now, as he laid in this frilly bed in this frilly house, he wished more strongly than he ever had that she could comfort him like that he again. He ached for it, longed for it, and he knew, deep within himself, that it would never happen. And so he cried. He cried until exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep and heavy sleep.

Draco awoke as feeling as though his eyes had been crusted and swollen shut. Dried, salty trails on his cheeks made it so that scrunching up has face caused a pulling sensation on his skin. His hair stuck to his forehead, which glistened with sweat, and he could feel with his fingers that that his face was marred by creases from the frilly pillowcase. He looked around the small room, feeling disoriented. The light had changed, and the clock on the nightstand told him that several hours had passed since he fallen asleep. It was now late afternoon, and he could hear sounds coming from the living room downstairs.

He remained frozen on the bed for a long time. He was dirty and sweaty and thirsty, and yet the idea of approaching any of the Dursleys about these complaints terrified him. If Potter had made anything clear about living here, it was that the Dursleys were to be left alone as much as possible. As far as Draco saw it, this left him with only one option, and that option scared him only slightly less than the alternative.

Walking carefully as though he would wake up some kind of beast, Draco traveled down the end of the hallway to the door with the cat flap. He stopped outside the door and spent a considerable amount of time staring it down, trying to gather up the courage to do what he was about to do. As he stood there, Draco noticed that this door appeared to lock from the outside, and a horrible thought stuck him. Had Potter been locked in this room, the way he had been locked in the cupboard downstairs? Is that why Potter had squirmed when he had asked him about the flap?

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He reeled around to see Potter standing behind him, looking irritated.

"P-Potter!" He stammered. "I thought you were –" Potter raised his eyebrows.

"What, I can't go to the loo in my own bloody house? What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Suddenly all the words in the English language seemed to escape him.

"I… well, I –" Potters eyebrows moved even further up his forehead, so they hid mostly behind his fringe.

"Out with it, Malfoy. What do you want?" Anxiety clutched him by his stomach. He wished he would turn invisible.

"Could I use your shower?" He finally spit out. He felt as though he were pushing the words past a physical obstruction in his throat. Potter's face took on a vaguely surprised expression, as though this was not what he had been expecting to hear.

"Oh. Uh, yeah, Malfoy. Sure. Follow me." Draco followed Potter back down the hallway to the restroom, and tried not to daze out as he walked him through how to adjust the temperature on the shower. After a brief explanation, Potter tossed a towel at him, and then disappeared behind the door. Draco felt another surge of intense loneliness, and swallowed past the lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat.

For the first time, he turned to face the mirror. He wished he hadn't. His hair, which he generally took much pride in keeping neat and tidy, was greasy, stringy, and all over the place. It stuck up in places at the back where in the front it laid flat, plastered to his forehead. His pale skin, milk-white and prone to showing even the slightest blemish, was red and blotchy, with his grey eyes lined with red and swollen, obvious testaments to the time he had spent crying not long ago. Draco wondered, briefly, whether Potter had noticed this.

Averting his eyes, Draco shrugged the robe from his shoulders. Beneath it, he wore an expensive, Slytherin green jumper sweater. He tore it off, tossing it into the corner as though it had done something to offend him. Exposing his arms to the open air, Draco sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat, and examined the dozens of lacerations on his pale wrists, which extended up the length of his forearms. They were all in various degrees of healing and served as physical evidence of the pain he had endured for the past 3 or so years. From his trouser pocket, he produced a razorblade.

He couldn't quite remember when he had begun his little habit, but the first vivid memory that Draco held of his now-regular self-harm was in 3rd year, following professor Lupin's lesson with the boggart. He had hid in the far back of the classroom, terrified of being chosen to battle the beast. Thanks to the chaos caused by Potter's dementor, he was spared of ever having to do so. This still did little to satiate the humiliation and shame that Draco had felt in his fear of the confrontation, and so he found himself later on locked in the stall of a restroom, potions knife in hand. To this day, Draco could not tell you exactly what possessed him to place the edge of the blade against his skin, but he had done so, and he had not stopped ever since.

Now, in the frilly bathroom of this frilly house at Number 4 Privet Drive, Draco set to work, adding line after line of evident misery to the milk-white flesh of his wrists. Slowly, scarlet beads of life began to surface, one droplet at a time, growing until they burst and trailed swiftly down his skin, forming a small pool at the crook of his elbow. Draco's breathing began to slow, allowing him to take fuller, more relaxing breaths. The lump, which had until now taken residence in his throat, looming with the constant threat of further tears, began to shrink and ebb away. He began to feel truly calm for the first time in more than 24 long hours.

When he was properly satisfied with the damage done, Draco shoved the blade back into his trouser pocket and shed the remainder of his clothes. His stomach growled, though from hunger or nausea he wasn't sure. Turning the tap, Draco started up the shower, and waited for the water to warm as he stared down at the fresh bloodshed on his arm. Then he stepped inside, and began to wash away what little memory he still had of the awful night before.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat at the dinner table that evening with a supreme feeling of injustice and indignation. Part of him wondered whether Dumbledore had concocted this entire scheme just to punish him for the trouble he tended to get into at school. The man did seem to have a knack for forcing people into unwanted situations, and this couldn't be made plainer in the present circumstances.

Malfoy sat beside Harry, spearing his fork into Aunt Petunia's overcooked potatoes, keeping his eyes on his plate. He hadn't spoken a word since Harry had showed him how to work the shower, though only time would tell whether this uncharacteristic silence would become a permanent feature of Malfoy's attitude. Harry eyed him wearily.

"Do you mind not staring at me, Potter?" Said Malfoy quietly. He did not pick up his gaze. Harry said nothing, but he did – at least momentarily – avert his eyes. Malfoy continued to pick at his dinner.

"Something the matter with my wife's cooking, is there?" Goaded Uncle Vernon. "Not good enough for you, is it, boy?" A hardened, pained expression came across Malfoy's face. Determination flashed across his eyes and the next bite that he took was considerably bigger than his last.

"No, sir." Said Malfoy to his potatoes after he had swallowed. "Not at all." Harry watched this interaction with a perplexed expression. In all his experience with Malfoy, he had been a spoiled, arrogant brat, who didn't seem the least bit keen on taking orders. And now, here they were, and Malfoy was speaking to Uncle Dursley as though he were house elf.

"Look who learned his manners, Malfoy." Sneered Harry, unable to stop himself. Malfoy stopped chewing, swallowed very deliberately, and closed his eyes. For a moment Harry thought that he was preparing to shout at him, but he suddenly stood up from the table very quickly.

"I'm sorry." He said in a manner that was quite dignified. "I must use the restroom." He turned tail and sped from the dining room, and Harry heard the bathroom door slam shut. This was followed by the sound of the water tap as it was opened and left to run.

"That friend of yours better not run up our water bill, boy." Growled Uncle Vernon to Harry. Harry had to suppress a growl himself.

"He's not my friend!" Said Harry loudly. "I don't want him here either!"

"Ooo…" Crooned Dudley from the other side of the table. "You've got a crush on him, haven't you?" Harry stood up from the table.

"Shut up!" He shouted. He could feel heat rising up his face, turning his ears red.

"Don't you talk to my son that way!" The injustice of all of this struck Harry like a rock. The words began spewing from his mouth before he could get a reign on what he was saying.

"Then don't let him talk to me that way!" Uncle Vernon stood up, mustache quivering menacingly on his purple face.

"Get out!" He bellowed. "GET OUT OF MY DINING ROOM, YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT!"

"GLADLY!" Shouted Harry. The last time he had felt this angry he had blown up his Aunt Marge. He stomped down the hall toward the stairs, swearing and muttering beneath his breath. He longed for the end of summer, for an escape from this miserable house full of miserable, horrible people who treated him like an insect. He reached the stairwell and was about to start climbing when he was distracted by something that sounded like retching coming from the bathroom, where the tap was still running. He froze. Malfoy?

Against his better judgement, Harry approached the bathroom door, and knocked, lightly.

"Malfoy?" He called. "Malfoy, are you alright?" Malfoy gave no answer, but a sputtering cough and another retching sound echoed out from within. Harry sighed. The fact that he was even in this situation seemed like some kind of cruel irony. "Look, Malfoy I'm gonna clear your place, okay? When you're done just… just go upstairs, okay? Don't bother with the Dursleys. They'll just give you hell."

Harry didn't expect a reply, nor did he wait for one. He turned around, walked back into the dining room, and – ignoring the repeated shouts of Uncle Vernon and the inquiries about Malfoy from Dudley - he cleared Malfoy's place and then climbed back upstairs, and locked himself safely in his room.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco spent a lot of time crying over the next fortnight. The way he saw it, there was no one left around to stop him, and so what use did it do to pretend that all of this didn't bother him? Presently, he was laying on the frilly pink bed, staring at a bug as it crawled its way across the ceiling. It occurred to him, as he listened to the sounds of Mrs. Dursley clanging pots and pans around in the kitchen below, that this may be the most boring house that he had ever been to.

When he had first come to Privet Drive, he had to admit that there was a small part of him that had been excited to stay in a muggle house. There was television and microwaves and all sorts of exotic things that he had never seen before. Unfortunately, Draco learned quickly that he was allowed near none of those things; that the Dursley's seemed that think that he or Potter would blow up and obliterate absolutely anything if they came anywhere close.

Draco had been passing the time by sleeping, staring out windows, writing in his journal, and wandering aimlessly about the neighborhood surrounding Privet Drive. He discovered within the first week that the playground was a place to avoid; if Potter wasn't there already, he was sure to be joined by Dudley and his gang soon. He had tried to avoid Potter as much as possible. Except for general platitudes they did not speak. It was clear to him that the easiest way to survive here was to stay functionally invisible.

Loneliness had enveloped him so completely that he began to struggle to even lift himself from the frilly bed in the mornings, and would have considered simply staying there, were it not for Mrs. Dursley banging on his door his second morning there, screaming about the laziness of his kind. He had begun to cut not just his wrists and arms, but his shoulders, too, in a vain effort to satiate the restless discomfort that he felt continually.

Staying here was only moderately better than staying at the Manor. Sure – if you didn't count Dudley – he at least ran no risk of physical injury, but the Dursleys and Potter both were cold and distant toward him, and every time he was in the presence of any of them, he couldn't help but feel like the world's largest inconvenience. He was still vomiting most of what he ate, and he was worried that Potter had caught onto this.

Not that it would matter, thought Draco. Since when did Potter care at all what happened to him? Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely true. Hadn't Potter cleared his place for him on the first night? Hadn't he warned him not to return to the table?

Draco rolled onto his side, wincing at the angry sting that flared from the fresher cuts along his shoulder, and draped a hand across his eyes, blocking out the sunlight. He sniffed, imagining what it would be like when he returned to school and word got around that he had spent the summer with Harry fucking Potter. Worse yet, that he had renounced the Dark Lord. Not all of Slytherin house was devoted to him, but enough of his dorm mates had Death Eater fathers that he wasn't sure he'd be safe when he returned. He longed for company. Any kind of company that did not did not regard him with a look of total disgust. He felt a tear slide down the length of his nose and drip onto the sheet.

Downstairs, Mrs. Dursely shouted that it was time for lunch. Draco didn't move. He heard heavy footsteps in the hallway, which told him that Dudley had emerged from his own smelly lair and had gone downstairs to feed. Lighter footsteps followed, which stopped outside of Draco's door. He wiped the tears from his eyes, but did not move to get off the bed. A moment later, he heard a knock. He ignored it, but the intruder knocked again, and Draco heard the creak of hinges as the door was pushed open, slowly.

"Malfoy?" Said Potter's voice from the darkness. "Malfoy, its lunch time. Are you going to come down?" He hadn't been down for lunch since the first week. Something Potter must have already noticed. "Are you alright?" Draco nearly scoffed at the question. Was he alright? Of course he wasn't alright. Who could possibly be alright in a situation like this?

"I'm fine, Potter." And the words took nearly all of his energy to utter. "Just go enjoy your Saturday." He waited for the sound of creaking hinges, but if never came. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked his arm up off his face, waited for his eyes to adjust, and found that Potter remained standing in the doorway. "What do you want, Potter?" It registered with him that his voice – which he usually took great care to keep confident and cold – sounded tired. Only tired. Potter was regarding him with a conflicting expression that might have been pity, and might have been concern.

"Look…" Said Potter, and his voice sounded awkward. "I know we've never gotten along, but… Well…"

"Spit it out, Potter."

"I'm worried about how little you've been eating, Malfoy. You're looking really thin and…"

"And what, Potter? What's it matter to you?" Draco didn't sit up. He didn't see the point. Potter sighed.

"I don't know how hard things were for you at home, but I know how hard it is to live here, and I hate to see you like this." Draco meant to shrug, but his muscles wouldn't move.

"Thanks for your concern." Said Draco to the floor. It was only after he said it that he realized he may have actually meant it. Potter still did not go away.

"Malfoy, really, you should eat something." Draco, now starting to get annoyed, used the last of his energy to push himself into a sitting positon.

"I can't eat anything, Potter. I'll just throw it up." The last few words were spoken to his feet. "I thought you'd caught on to that by now." The pitying expression that Potter gave him in response to this was enough to make him want to yell.

"Well, you've got to try, Malfoy. You can't just starve." Draco snapped his head up to glare at Potter.

"Like it would make a goddamn bit of difference to you, Potter. Just leave me alone." Sighing, but seeming to realize that he wasn't going to get anywhere, Potter's head disappeared behind the doorway again.

Draco felt annoyed. The nerve of him, acting as if there were any part of him that actually cared whether he lived or died. 5 years of schooling together had taught Draco that – if he could be sure of anything – it was that Harry Potter would be the first to rejoice in his death. He continued glaring at the spot where he had stood.

It wasn't all Potter's fault, he supposed. He, Draco, had done a lot over the previous 5 years at Hogwarts that had solidified Potter's hatred of him. But then again, what exactly did he expect? Sunshine? Flowers? Even if Draco had been _allowed_ to be nice to Potter, their histories made it an impossibility. For some reason this thought made his already sour mood even worse. One thing was for sure, though. He was no longer jealous of Potter. Two weeks in this miserable girlish house was enough to drive the Dark Lord himself into madness.


	5. Chapter 5

Another week passed. Harry was happy to see that – despite his initial resistance – Malfoy did seem to be putting a little more effort into keeping himself fed. He still heard the sounds of retching coming from the washroom, but the episodes seemed to be coming less frequently.

Harry had lost some of the resentment he had been harboring toward Malfoy. Removed from school, he seemed uninterested in his old ways, and typically kept to himself, hidden away in the small room off the hall. The parts of Harry that had feared Malfoy would judge him for the way that he lived began to slowly ebb away.

It was presently Tuesday afternoon. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen, washing dishes. Harry, having just finished his tuna sandwich, sat on the couch in the living room, much to the annoyance of Dudley, who was playing a video game with the volume turned up so loudly that Aunt Petunia's ceramic coasters vibrated angrily on the table every time he made something explode.

Malfoy had refused to join in for lunch, though Harry thought of this with less concern that he had the week before. He was – at the very least – joining for dinner.

Harry frowned, tuning out the sounds of Dudley swearing loudly at the television. He had thought Malfoy being forced to live as he had would offer a sense of vengeance to him, but in reality, Harry found himself feeling simply sad for Malfoy. Of course, Malfoy's depressive attitude was no help; and – secretly – Harry wished that he would complain, to show some semblance of the spoiled brat he had always been at school. Harry sighed.

"Shut up, freak!" Grunted Dudley, without removing his eyes from the screen. "Go bother your little boyfriend." Rolling his eyes, Harry stood from the couch and started toward the living room door. He walked deliberately in front of the television, blocking Dudley's view for as long as he could manage. He ducked out of the way of the remote control as it was chucked violently toward his head, and smirked as he heard the plastic crack against the wall.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Called Harry back at him as he ducked out of the door. "Jackass." He added, just to himself. For a moment, Harry simply stood in the empty hallway. He thought about returning to his bedroom, but the thought washed over him with a distinct sourness that changed his mind. He would go for a walk, then, to clear his head. He began to bound up the stairs, taking them in odd intervals.

Perhaps it was diligence, or perhaps it was paranoia, but Harry had fallen into the habit of carrying his wand anytime he left the house. After the encounter with the dementors in the previous summer, and in light of Voldemort's recent return, it seemed unwise not to do so. Retrieving his wand quickly from the nightstand, Harry headed back down the hallway toward the staircase, but froze as he reached the top.

He spun round and headed toward the bathroom, grabbing the handle and opening the door without stopping to knock. He was met with such a shock that it seemed to glue him to floor.

"Potter!" Malfoy – a look of complete and utter panic written across his face – scrambled to stuff something small and silver back into his trouser pocket, and was franticly pulling on the sleeves of the plain black hoodie that he had taken to wearing. His efforts were in vain, however, as Harry had already seen all that he needed to see.

"What are doing with that razorblade, Malfoy?" Harry asked, directly, taking two long strides across the bathroom floor.

"I-I. N-nothing, Potter! Get off of me!" Harry had reached Malfoy and grabbed him roughly around his left wrist, and – with his other hand – violently pulled up the sleeve. Anger permeated Harry's body, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Malfoy?" He roared, bringing his face much closer to Malfoy's than he normally would. "You know, if you bleed to death in here, I'm the one that'll have to clean it up!" Malfoy's panicked expression melted into an angry glare.

"This isn't a suicide attempt!" He wrenched, hard, on the bloody arm, and managed to free it from Harry's grasp. His voice shook. "And if I was going to bleed myself to death I'd be courteous enough to do it in the fucking bathtub!" He pulled the sleeve back down over the cuts, giving Harry a look as though he didn't deserve to see them. Hot anger was still pulsating through Harry's veins, making his face feel flushed.

"Give me the razorblade, Malfoy." His voice was the sort of forced calm that he was used to hearing from Uncle Vernon when he was very upset.

Malfoy, leaning backwards as to put as much distance between himself and Harry as possible, was glaring at him with a look that suggested he had asked him to grow a second head.

"Fuck off, Potter. If I ever kill myself I'll make sure it's not an inconvenience to you." Harry persisted. He held out his hand.

"The razorblade, Malfoy." He repeated.

"I said get out of here, Potter!" Malfoy roared, his voice raising to a shouting volume. Harry raised his own voice to match.

"Give me the razorblade!"

"Why?!" And Malfoy's voice broke. "You want it for yourself?" Harry was so taken aback by this statement that he backed off a couple of inches, peering at Malfoy's face in disbelief.

"What?" Sensing that he had gotten to him, Malfoy's expression grew more confident.

"Your life's almost as shitty as mine." He continued, and the tremor had not gone from his voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were in it too." Some of the rage had begun to drain from Harry's mind. For the first time it occurred to him that Malfoy looked to be on the verge of tears. When he spoke again, his voice was more naturally calm.

"I don't want you to do anything stupid." If Harry had been expecting this phrase to calm Malfoy, he had been terribly mistaken. He plunged his hand into his trouser pocket, and for a split second Harry thought that he was going to hand over the blade. Instead he dodged sideways out of his position between Harry and the wall, and strode to the opposite end of the washroom, backing into the door, which he pushed closed with his body weight. He pulled the sleeve back up and put the edge of the blade to his wrist. Harry felt his stomach plummet to the region of his feet.

"Stupid, huh?" Said Malfoy. His voice began to border on hysteria. "Like what?" He held the wrist and the blade out, as if to make a point. "Bleed myself to death? Make a mess of your precious little bathroom?" Harry held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. He took a slow, deliberate step toward Malfoy.

"Malfoy…" He started slowly, and then began again. "Draco…" Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes at the use of his first name. The blade trembled in his fingertips. "Draco, please." Said Harry. "I didn't mean it like that." Malfoys lower lip quivered, and then set.

"Yes you did, Potter." He insisted. "You know as well as I do that as long as I don't make a mess there wouldn't be damn person in this house that wouldn't be relieved." Harry took another step toward Malfoy. There was a panicked obstruction in his throat, and when he spoke, the words were forced and strangled.

"Draco, that isn't true." Draco did not move, and for a moment, he didn't respond. He stood steady, glaring at Harry through tear-filled eyes. Then, without warning, he tossed the blade across the room. It clamored in the corner.

"I don't believe you," he mumbled, quietly. He turned around and pulled open the bathroom door. Harry scrambled after him down the hallway and into the guest room. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the bed. He shot daggers at Harry as he came through the door. "Leave me alone, Potter!" He snapped. Harry shook his head and closed the door behind him.

"You're one threatened suicide attempt too far for that one, Malfoy." He answered. Malfoy's icy glare intensified.

"I already told you, Potter. I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Yeah, well, ya' threatened to." Responded Harry, irritably. "So you better feel lucky I'm not dragging your ass straight to the nearest hospital and having you committed!" Malfoy rolled his eyes and Harry felt some of his original anger return.

"Yeah, right, Potter." Malfoy drawled. "And how do you plan on getting me there?" There was a hint of a smirk in his words, as though he had just claimed some sort of victory. Harry looked pointedly at Malfoy, and then opened the door to the bedroom.

"Aunt Petunia!" He shouted. Eyes widening, Malfoy lunched himself off the bed.

"Shut up!" He hissed. He threw himself on Harry and tried to clamp his hand across his mouth. Harry threw him off with little effort, and an alarm bell went off in his head over how easy Malfoy had been to overpower.

"You think she wouldn't jump at a chance to have you or even me for that matter locked up in a loony bin?" Hissed Harry. "Aunt Petunia!" Malfoy slammed the door closed.

"Alright! Alright!" He conceded, loudly. "Just shut up! What do you want from me?" There were a few minutes during which silence weighed down on the two of them. Harry's brain whirred, processing everything that had taken place over the previous half-hour. He was alternating between anger and pity with such speed that his head spun. For the time being, the worried, tearful expression on Malfoy's face was enough to mitigate his hostility. When he finally spoke, it was gently.

"I think we need to talk, Malfoy." He watched carefully as the other boy took in these words. At first, his posture straightened in defiance, and Harry thought that he would fight with him. Slowly, however, the reality of the situation seemed to dawn on Malfoy, and the defiant posture seemed to deflate. He had Malfoy in a corner, and he seemed to realize that there was no way to get out of this without having to explain himself. Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, Malfoy walked back across the extra bedroom, and sat down on the frilly bed.

He didn't speak. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared intently at his lap, chewing worriedly at his lower lip. Harry watched him uncomfortably, without moving from his position. Malfoy began to blink rapidly. He bit harder on his lip, but his chin began to quiver, anyways. From across the room, Harry watched tears begin to drip onto Malfoy's sleeve. He sniffed, and the tears began dripping faster and his shoulders began to shake. He did not try to wipe them away.

Harry watched him cry, frozen in an impossible decision as to what he should do. His natural instincts were urging him to comfort Malfoy, to try to understand what it must be like to go through everything Malfoy had gone through since the start of summer. On the other hand, he and Malfoy had spent 5 years as enemies; there was no telling how he would take it if he tried.

Harry knew that he would have to do _something_. In the end, he moved across the room, and sat – hesitantly – beside Malfoy on the bed. He placed on a hand on one of Malfoy's quivering shoulders, and spoke without first thinking of what he would say.

"I know it feels." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. As he said it, the reality of the thought struck him, and he had to swallow past a lump in his own throat. Malfoy seemed to have given up on fighting. He made no effort to shrug Harry's hand off of his shoulder, and so he left it there.

"You know how what feels?" Croaked Malfoy after a moment. Harry took his time in answering.

"To…" He started slowly. "To be in a house where it seems like no one would care if you lived or died." Malfoy began to cry even harder, sobs wracking his frail body. Harry felt an incredible sense of guilt at having done nothing to make sure that Malfoy was faring alright during his stay in Harry's own personal hell. He moved nearer to him on bed, and began to rub Malfoy's back in an awkward way that he hoped would offer comfort.

He eyed Malfoy's arm, wearily. Beneath the sleeve, Harry knew, Draco was bleeding.


	6. Chapter 6

It occurred to Draco, as he sat sobbing on the bed, that Potter was the first person to see him cry in what must have been 8 or 9 years. Were the circumstances any different, the irony of the situation would have struck him as hysterical.

And yet, here they were. There was something about Potter's presence, as annoying and humiliating as it was, that comforted him. He had seen a piece of Potter's history; he had had a glimpse into the other boy's life, and Draco had been surprised to find that it was not unlike his own. Lonely. Cold. Draco realized for the first time that there might be another person in this world who could understand his pain. And he could not stop crying.

After a while, Potter stopped rubbing his back. He got off the bed and kneeled down in front of Draco, so that their eyes became level.

"Draco…" He said gently. At the use of his first name, his head snapped up, finding Potter's green eyes with his own. "Listen to me." He spoke so quietly that Draco could barely hear him. "I will not let this place destroy you." He was quiet for a moment, his face appearing troubled. "I'm sorry that it took me this long to realize what this was doing to you. I should have known. This place isn't good to people like you and me." Draco had to open and close his mouth a number of times before the words came out.

"Thank you, Potter." He answered, cringing at the sound of his own voice. "But this has been going on a lot longer than you think." Inside, he felt his stomach run away. He had just broken 3 years-worth of secrecy. Potter shook his head.

"Even if it has, Draco," he answered. "I know what this place is like. I know what it's like to be dumped here. I was too busy worrying about myself, and I should have made sure that you were okay." Another unwilling sob wrenched itself from Draco's throat. He was not okay. "Look at me." Said Potter, and Draco did. "Let's call a truce, alright? We can go back to normal in September if you want, but we're both stuck here, and there's no reason to make each other even more miserable." Draco thought about this for a moment, and then nodded.

"O-okay." He managed to choke out. Potter smiled, and nodded back. Draco's stomach did a funny sort of flip that caused a watery laugh to escape through his lips. He felt his cheeks flush from embarrassment.

"Alright," said Potter, "Good." There was a note of relief in his voice. Draco sniffed and started to wipe some of the moisture from his face. Potter followed his movements with watchful eyes, and finally said, "Draco, is your arm okay?" Draco froze. Instinctively, his fingers closed, tightly, around the sleeve of his sweater.

"I-I'm fine." He stammered. "It's nothing." He was unused to being looked at in the way that Potter was looking at him now. The genuine concern that was radiating from Potter made Draco uncomfortable. He had been pitied, sure, but – save for his mother – he had never been face to face with another person who actually worried whether he was okay. He wasn't sure he liked it; guilt began to settle in his stomach over causing all this fuss.

"Draco," said Potter, patiently. "I would feel a lot better if I could only take a look and make sure that you're alright." Electricity was shooting through Draco's veins. His stomach turned in violent knots and for a moment, he was worried he might be sick.

"I-I don't know…" He had never shown his cuts to anybody before. He had devoted so much energy over the course of the previous 2 and a half years to keeping them hidden that now the mere idea of showing them off on purpose was enough to send him into a panic. He fought off a wild desire to run. "I-I'll be fine, Potter." He stammered again. "It's never been a problem before." Potter smiled at him again.

"Call me Harry." He said, nicely. "If we're gonna be on truce, we might as well be first name terms." Draco watched Harry suspiciously. "That is, as long as you're comfortable with me calling you Draco." He was comfortable. In fact, he hated his surname. He hated what it meant. If he could have his way, he would change it entirely, though he said none of these things aloud. Instead what he said was:

"That's okay." Harry smiled again, and stood up to take a place beside Draco on the bed.

"Please let me see your arm, Draco. I promise I won't hurt you." Draco weighed his options, and concluded that – if he didn't trust Harry – there wasn't another person he could trust in the world. After this summer, no one in Slytherin house would want anything to do with him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and slowly turned his body so that he and Harry were facing one another. His hand shook as he outstretched it, slowly, like an offering, to Harry. Then he closed eyes. Behind his eyelids, tears began to form again.

From beyond the darkness, Draco felt Harry gently slide up sleeve of the hoodie. He heard a slight gasp of surprise, and then felt the wet trail of tears as they broke free and rolled down his already reddened cheeks. He opened them, and through the blurry sheen, he saw Harry staring down at his arm in sadness. Blood still oozed from a few of the cuts, and his skin was smeared red from the chaos of the interruption. Without touching, Harry traced a few of the older scars with his index finger.

"How long have you been doing this?" He asked gently. Draco shrugged, trying to stop the fresh wave of crying that was threatening to overcome him.

"A few years." He managed to get out. He was stunned at his own vulnerability; not more than a month ago, the very thought of this would have been ludicrous. Harry frowned.

"You said I was hurting you." He said in a strange voice. "The first day you were here. This is why, isn't it?" Draco shifted uncomfortably, and nodded. He heard himself mumble a response.

"You ripped a couple of them."

"I'm sorry, Draco. I hadn't realized." Draco shrugged. Of course he hadn't. No one had. Sighing in a resolute sort of way, Harry stood, keeping a tight hold on Draco's hand. "Come on." Draco didn't bother to argue. Instead, he focused his energy on keeping his composure.

Harry led Draco back into the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the razorblade on the floor where it had landed when he tossed it. Seeming to read his thoughts, Harry picked up the blade and flushed it down the toilet before gesturing to Draco that he should sit down on the counter. Draco listened. He stared down at the carnage that was his arm as Harry began to rummage around in the drawers and cabinets below.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this are you?" Draco finally found the gall to ask what he had been thinking since this whole ordeal began. "I can't go home." He croaked. "They'll just put me in a ward in St. Mungo's."

"I doubt they would do that." Answered Harry kindly. He had begun to wipe the blood from Draco's skin using a dampened wad of cotton. "And I can't promise I'll never tell anyone." Draco's stomach plummeted violently to floor. Before he could say anything to protest, Harry's eyes met his, and his voice dissolved in his throat. "If I ever feel like telling someone is the only way to save your life, I will absolutely do it. Sorry, this is going to sting." He began to dab something on Draco's arm that was clear, and cold, and – true to Harry's word – stung like hell.

"I told you," insisted Draco, wincing through the pain. "This wasn't a suicide attempt." Harry stopped working for a moment, and stared into Draco's face with so much intensity that his stomach did a flip.

"Maybe not this time, Draco. But can you honestly tell me that you've never thought about it before?" Draco stayed silent. He knew that Harry knew the answer to this already. Harry sighed, examining the cuts closely. "I'm assuming this isn't the only place you have these." He said, wearily. Draco bit down on his lip, and directed his eye contact to the floor. "Look, Draco. It's no one's business what you've done to yourself. I'm not going to go walking around spilling your secrets to the world." Draco felt a heavy weight lift instantly from his shoulders.

"But," Continued Harry, in a very serious voice, "that doesn't make this okay. I'm very worried about you. I'm going to be keeping a very close eye on you for the rest of the summer, and the only way I'm keeping my mouth shut is if you are honest with me about what's going on. Next time you feel like hurting yourself, come find me. If it happens anyway, don't hide it from me. If you start getting secretive I'm going to assume the worst. I need you to come out of this okay."

"Why do you care so much?" Draco whispered to the floor.

"Because," said Harry, forcing Draco to look into his face. "I'm starting to realize that you and I really aren't that different." Privately, Draco agreed. "Besides," added Harry, "no one deserves to feel like living isn't worth it." Harry had finished patching up his arm. Gently, he pulled Draco's sleeve back down over the bandages, and offered him a gentle smile. "Come on. Why don't we walk over to the park?" Draco sniffed, glancing toward himself in the mirror. His alabaster cheeks were blotted with red, and his pale eyes were puffy, glassy, and bloodshot. His hair stood up as though he had just woken up from a nap.

"I don't know…" He answered, hesitantly. "Maybe if I wash my face."

"Of course, Draco." Answered Harry. "Whatever you need. I'll be in my room. Just come get me when you're ready." Draco nodded and watched as Harry left the room. A few more tears ran down his cheeks. He had never been treated in this way before. He stayed sitting on the counter. What did all of this mean?

It meant he had to talk, reasoned his brain. It meant he would have to tell Harry about everything that had happened to him in the last two years. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it; the very prospect of being that open and honest with anyone was a foreign and frightening one. Let alone being open and honest with a person whom – until scarcely a month ago – he had thought to be an enemy. His thoughts swam along with his vision as he stared at the Dursley's tiled bathroom floor. He wished – with some resentment – that Potter had not flushed his razorblade.

After some negotiation, Draco finally managed to talk himself into hopping off the bathroom counter. Beneath the bandage, his arm stung strangely; he had never really given them proper medical care before, and as he ran the tap and splashed water on his face, he was very aware of small droplets of water, as they dripped down his wrist and in the bandages below. He felt vaguely sick, as though his body were deciding whether it should vomit. It was a feeling that – over the past couple of months – he had grown rather used to.

He stared himself down in the mirror, having to take a concerted effort to not avert his gaze from the train wreck in front of him. A look that prior to a month ago had not been present on his face since childhood. He removed a hairbrush from one of the bathroom drawers, and did the best he could to straighten out the chaos that was his hair. He was desperate to escape the frilly clutches of the Dursley's house, and even the idea of doing it was Harry was a welcoming one. He felt far safer from Dudley and his gang this way.

When he knocked on the door at the end of the hall, it was with a timidness that would have shamed his father. Harry opened it before he had an opportunity to stew in his own anxiety.

"Are you ready, Draco?" he asked. His voice had a false cheeriness that Draco wished he would drop. He merely nodded, and fell in a step behind Harry as he went down the stairs and into the hall beyond. Harry opened the front door and exited without ceremony, without telling anyone where they were going and when they would be back. Draco had been living here for near a month; and this was a routine he still had not gotten used to.

They walked in relative silence down the narrow streets toward the park. It seemed to Draco that Harry, not impatiently, was waiting from him to say the first word. He spent most of the journey trying to decide what to say, and where to start. Exactly how much was Harry expecting him to tell him? How much was he even willing to say?

They reached the short wooden fence surrounding the park, and entered. Harry crossed automatically to the swing set, and Draco followed suit, taking a seat beside Harry on a swing. Around them, the air was hot and still, and the swings adjacent to them did not sway. It was a quite a while before Draco spoke, though from the look on Harry's expression, he didn't mind.

"I always thought you were spoiled." He said, quietly. It wasn't what he had planned to say, but now that it was out, it felt like the right thing. "I was jealous of you." When Harry responded, his voice was calm, but Draco sensed a tint of hostility beneath his words.

"You obviously knew that I was right last year, when everyone was calling me a liar. How could you think I was spoiled?" Draco shrugged.

"I couldn't walk about telling everyone my father was a Death Eater either, could I?" He reasoned, and Harry's postured seemed to relax a little. "Besides. I figured with all the friends and admirers you did have that it wouldn't matter that a few naïve motherfuckers wanted to pretend you were a loony." Harry gave him a strange look, and for a moment Draco worried that he had crossed a line.

"Would you have treated me any different?" Harry asked. "If you had known what my life was like a home? Or how fewer people believed me than didn't?" Draco didn't answer right away. His gut response told him that no, he wouldn't have, his pride and his fear of his father would have kept him from being civil. On the other hand, Draco wanted to think that – had he known Harry's own struggles – he might have had someone to talk to for all these miserable years.

"I don't know." He finally whispered. "Would you have treated me any different? If you had known about me?"


	7. Chapter 7

Harry thought about the question with a conflicted sense of guilt and indignity.

"I never even thought to consider it," he confessed. "You always seemed so passionately invested in all of it." A look of disgust crossed Draco's face, shortly, and he said,

"I guess I played the part too well." Harry looked him over, regarding him out of the context of everything in their past. Here was Draco, away from the castle, and the handsome robes, and Crabbe and Goyle and Snape. Here he was, removed from the hatred and bigotry with which Harry had always connected him. The most noticeable change, however was that the sour, arrogant attitude that he had always carried with him, had vanished entirely into nothingness. The boy it had left behind was someone, but it was certainly not the Draco Malfoy had thought he had always known.

"I guess so." Agreed Harry, quietly.

"But if you knew." Pressed Draco, and Harry saw that he was looking at him desperately. "What would have done?" Harry frowned.

"Well, this, I guess." He sputtered, feeling off guard. "As long as you didn't treat me like vermin." Draco quieted with this, and Harry thought – incorrectly – that he had finished with his line of questioning. He wasn't going to say it out loud, but when they had come here, Harry had expected to be the one to ask questions.

"But," said Draco after awhile. "I wasn't nice to you here, either…" He was staring down at his feet, where he was tracing lines in the sand with his trainers. Harry sighed.

"Look, Draco. There's no use dwelling on what would have been. The point is, we're here now. And if I ever did anything to cause any of those scars, I'm sorry. I genuinely didn't know." Harry held his breath. It felt somehow important that Draco didn't hold him responsible for this.

"I know you didn't." Draco mumbled, and Harry exhaled. "It just would have been nice, you know?" Before Harry could open his mouth to respond, Draco kept going. "I guess you wouldn't." he said, miserably. "You had Potter and Granger and Dumbledore at least." Guilt began to regrow inside of him.

"You had Crabbe and Goyle," he reasoned. "And Pansy Parkinson." Draco's head snapped up, his eyebrows furrowed as though he, Harry, had just said something very stupid.

"Every single one of them is going to drop me the instant they find out what I did. They were never my friends. Just connections." Beyond Draco, a few children were playing on the Merry-Go-Round, shouting gleefully over their sober conversation.

"I'm sorry." Replied Harry, sincerely. It was the only thing he could think of to say. Draco went quiet again. When Harry felt confident that he was finished, he said, "Does anyone else know about this?" Draco shook his head.

"No." He said, and Harry had to strain to hear him beneath the children.

"Have you been making yourself throw up on purpose?" Draco stiffened, and Harry felt his stomach vanish. Slowly, the other boy shook his head again.

"N-not really." He answered.

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, a little firmly. Draco seemed to think about this.

"I guess I have, before." He said, carefully, adding "only a few times!" in an effort to calm Harry's look of horror. "But I'm not now," he finished quickly. "I-It's stress, I think." Harry frowned.

"Why would you do it in the first place, Draco?" On the swing beside him, the other boy seemed to shrink, pulling into himself as if to create protection against a predator.

"I don't know. O-or, I can't explain it. Just… just know I'm not doing it anymore, okay?"

"Well, would you be?" Harry found himself asking.

"What?" The look on Draco's face was distressed, and yet Harry pushed forward.

"If you weren't…" He looked for the words. "Stress sick, I mean. Would you still be doing it?" Draco stared down at the sand beneath his feet.

"I don't know." He mumbled, and Harry could tell that he meant it. There were a few moments where neither of them said anything. "I'm sorry." Said Draco, finally. Harry gazed at him mildly, feeling a little confused.

"What are you sorry for?" He asked, when the other boy didn't elaborate. Draco's cheeks grew a tinge of pink, and his response was mumbled so that Harry could barely hear him.

"For crying all over you." He answered. "Until they dropped me off here I used to never do that." He seemed afraid to make eye contact, and Harry found himself overwhelmed by a sense of sadness. "I've got to stop doing it."

"Draco," Said Harry with conviction, "As far as I'm concerned you can cry as much as you damn well please. You've been through hell. It would be unusual not to be affected." Draco blushed ever deeper.

"Yeah, well, I know you weren't pleased about me coming here either." He answered, miserably. "I doubt you wanted to spend your summer trying to keep me from killing myself." Harry felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Silence hung heavily in the summer air, emphasizing the gravity of what Draco had just said.

"So… you've thought about it, then." Stated Harry, quietly. Draco nodded, and blinked a few times in rapid succession. Harry stared. He wasn't sure what to say, and anxiety rode up inside of him as the length of the silence extended. He needed to say something. He was thankful when Draco spared him the trouble.

"Don't look at me like that." He said, finally looking up to gaze at Harry's face. "I'm not going to try anything. I know better than to call your bluff about the hospital. I'm not about to explain to a bunch of muggles about You Know Who." He seemed to mean this well enough, and some of Harry's breath began to return.

"I'm serious, Draco. If you ever feel like –" He caught the look on Draco's face, and decided not to finish. "Sorry." He said instead.

"Look," said Draco after some thought, "It's not easy for me to do this. Everything about my upbringing has taught me that I should avoid conversations like this at all costs. Especially with you." _Then maybe you shouldn't have threatened to kill yourself,_ thought Harry, with a little irritation _._

"Then forget this conversation," said Harry. "You know, there's a perk to living with muggles." He waited for Draco to look at him in intrigue, and continued, "no one has a damn clue who you are. They don't know that I'm 'The Chosen One,' they don't give a flying fuck about blood status, and if you and I walked into this park together, there's not a person here who gives a damn that we're supposed to be enemies. Relax. No one has to know a thing." With these words, Draco's posture seemed to relax. Harry could see tension release in his shoulders and neck. He felt himself smile, slightly.

"I've never had that before." Said Draco with a tone that suggested he was realizing this for the first time. This time, Harry smiled widely.

"Anonymity can be nice, sometimes. Come on, let's go." Harry stood from the swing, and offered out a hand to Draco. Draco took it, though with a look of slight confusion.

"Where are we going now?" He asked. Some of the misery had begun to disappear from his voice, replaced now with a curiosity that Harry had never seen in him before.

"We're going to go get some ice cream." Said Harry. "There's a nice little shop on the corner near here."


	8. Chapter 8

A bell chimed happily at the top of the doorframe as Harry pushed it open and led Draco into a small-but-cozy shop that smelled of sugar. A blender was whirring loudly behind the counter and a teenage girl was busy preparing plastic cups beside it. There was a glass wall that ran the length of the counter, and when they approached, Draco could see more than a dozen different shades of colored ice cream, illuminated by electric lights. The blender turned off and the girl behind the counter began filling the plastic cups with the thick, purple liquid inside. With the sound of the blender gone, Draco could hear a low hum coming from the ice cream case that he recognized as the same sound made by the Dursley's refrigerator. He stared around in interest. He had never been inside a muggle shop before.

Upbeat music surrounded them, coming from speakers affixed to the ceiling. The girl approached the counter and asked them what they would like to order. Harry looked to Draco, and he froze, suddenly feeling very shy.

"Did you have a chance to decide what you wanted, Draco?" Harry was asking him. Draco felt slightly dazed. He had been so enamored by the rest of the shop that he had forgotten to even look. He shook his head and Harry politely told the girl that they would need a little more time. Draco turned his attention to the ice cream, which was labeled with little cards behind the glass that told them what the flavor options were. He decided on coffee. They got their ice cream and took a seat.

"Thank you," said Draco as they sat. He felt his cheeks tinge pink. Harry beamed at him.

"I'm just happy to have someone to buy for. I don't ever have anyone to come here with." Draco was still so fascinated by the paintings, and the music, the machinery, and the people coming into the shop, that he kept forgetting to eat his ice cream. He noticed that every so often, a customer would catch sight of Harry and avert their eyes, or shuffle to the other end of the store. It wasn't unlike the way Hogwarts students had regarded him when they had thought he was the Heir of Slytherin.

"What's their problem?" He finally found himself asking, after the third or fourth time that this happened. Harry shrugged.

"They think I'm dangerous." He said casually. "My Uncle Vernon told everyone I go a school for delinquents so no one ever asks where I am throughout the year." A righteous surge of anger shot through Draco.

"But that's ridiculous!" He protested. Harry shrugged again.

"I'm used to it. Compared to Hogwarts rumors, being avoided by muggles is a welcome change. Besides, I know no one's going to mess with me. Except Dudley I guess." He was scraping the bottom of the bowl with his plastic spoon. They were silent for a while, while Draco continued to stare at the various fixtures in the store.

"My dad would have a fit if he ever knew I went to a muggle shop." He said after a while. "I don't see what the big deal is, really." Harry frowned, and for a moment Draco wondered if he had said something wrong.

"Well, who cares?" Said Harry, finally. "He isn't here. He can't control you anymore, Draco. You can do whatever feels right for you." Draco felt slightly uncomfortable with this thought. He felt anxious. He didn't _know_ what felt right for him; he had never been asked to decide for himself before. He voiced this.

"What… what if I don't know what's right for me?" He asked, finishing the contents of his bowl. Harry smiled.

"You'll figure it out." He said nicely. "Tell you what." He stood and collected the empty ice cream bowls from the table, and tossed them into the bin by the door. "Why don't you tell me about yourself. What are your interests?" Draco folded his arms across his chest, curling into himself.

"I don't know." He mumbled. Harry didn't seem affected by Draco's reluctance.

"Fair enough. I'll tell you about me, first." Draco felt slightly taken aback over Harry's constant positivity. "I love Quidditch. If I could play for England after Hogwarts it would be pretty amazing, but right now it looks like I want to be an Auror. My favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts, except when Umbridge taught it. You actually caught me trying to teach my own class last year." Draco shifted guiltily.

"Sorry about that." He mumbled. "I got a lot of people in a lot of trouble for that."

"It's in the past, Draco." Answered Harry with a tone that suggested finality. "I'm terrible in Potions." He continued. "I love dogs, though I've clearly never been allowed to have one. Let's see…" He trailed off, evidently searching for more things to say. "My favorite color is green. I like rock music and it's annoying that Hogwarts doesn't let muggle devices work because I never get to listen to it. I hate being the center of attention and it seems like drama seems to follow me no matter what I do. And… if it weren't for Ron and Hermione I don't know what I'd do." Draco sensed that this was the end of Harry's spiel, and across the table, Harry was look at him expectantly. He took a calming breath.

"Well…" He started slowly, copying Harry's list. "I actually hate Quidditch," he admitted. "I'm not good at it and it's really hard to change without showing off my scars. I guess dad can't make me play anymore so I'll be quitting the team this year." A slight weight lifted from his stomach as he said this. "I have no earthly idea what I'll be doing after Hogwarts, but my best subject has always been Charms so maybe it will have something to do with that. I like to read." He stopped, trying to pony up the courage to say the next thing. "I like to write, too." He finally said. "Poems, stories. It keeps my head out of the places I don't like it being." Harry smiled.

"I'd like to read some one day," He offered. Draco squirmed, his face reddening.

"Thanks, but… that's okay, Harry." Said Draco shyly. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Insisted Harry. "Really." Draco blushed deeper and moved on as though Harry hadn't spoken.

"My worst subject is Transfiguration. I've never been around an animal aside from an owl for long enough to have an opinion. My favorite color is blue. I've never been allowed to listen to muggle music so I don't know how I feel about that either. I also really hate to be the center of attention but up until recently my entire life has been about putting on a show for every person that I meet. I envy what you have with Potter and Granger, too," he added. "Your life sucks but at you've got friends." As he said this, his insides seemed to deflate like a balloon. He felt a shadow settle over him. Harry had his head cocked to one side in apparent contemplation.

"There's a lot of things about my life I'd like to change," said Harry. "But I wouldn't say it sucks. It makes me more grateful for the things I have. And _you_ ," he added, putting emphasis on the word, "have nothing to be envious over. You've got me, haven't you?" Draco shot him a dubious look.

"Yeah, as a part of a temporary truce, because you walked in on me with a razorblade. _That's_ a real feel-good story."

"No one says it has to be temporary, Draco." Replied Harry. Draco's stomach flipped. "Only if you want it that way. And yeah, the circumstances aren't exactly pretty, but friendships start in all sorts of places. I'm happy to have someone to spend time with this summer. There's no part of me that regrets that. We've shared some life experiences too, and that's nice, because up til now all my friends' have had perfect home lives and don't understand pressure." Draco thought about this.

"You promise I'm not just a burden?" He asked, quietly. "I don't see what use I am to you…" Harry frowned.

"Friendship isn't about usefulness, Draco. It's about companionship. You can never have too many friends. Of course you're not a burden." Some of the shadow lifted. Harry stood from the table and Draco followed suit.

A strong, child-like part of Draco did not want to leave the shop. He hadn't finished looking at everything, and besides; sitting in this shop with Harry was the most enjoyable experience he had had in a number of years. For the first time in his memory, he had been involved in an interaction that didn't require him to follow some sort of social protocol; that wasn't attached to his carefully constructed image. Harry must have seen the hesitating glance that Draco cast toward the door, because he smiled at him in a reassuring way and said:

"Don't worry. We'll be back here a lot more before the end of the summer." Taking in one last breath of the cool, sugary air, Draco nodded, and followed Harry back through the door, where the cheerful bell happily rang them out.

The outside air was just as hot and still as it had been when they entered, and the position of the sun gave him the impression that it was late afternoon.

"Do you go there often?" Asked Draco, who suddenly longed to know more about Harry's life. Harry shrugged in a noncommittal sort of way.

"A bit. Not as often as I would have liked, because, well, it's awkward always eating alone. Especially when half the neighborhood thinks you're a criminal." A sour look crossed Harry's face and for a moment, his eyes went out of the focus. Then he seemed to snap out of it, and continued, in a voice that was falsely enthusiastic, "But that's doesn't matter now! You're here, so it won't look as strange." Draco had the distinct impression that Harry was more bothered by what his neighbors thought of him than he was letting on, but he didn't say so. Instead he said:

"Are… are there other places around here? That we could go to?" There was a curiosity and a hopefulness in his voice that he was unused to hearing in himself. The ice cream shop had been so far and away from anything he had seen, he was now flooded with the strong desire to explore more. Before today, it had never truly occurred to Draco how small of a world he had been living in. Another smile stretched across Harry's face, and this time, Draco could tell that it was genuine.

"Sure! There's the shops, and the zoo, and the little café that has live bands at night. And, if you'd rather just people-watch, we can always ride around on the bus." The word 'bus' triggered an image in Draco's head; a triple-decker, purple bus with beds instead of seats and a acne-scarred teenager who asked too many questions. He had stumbled into the street, he remembered, suddenly, with a shock. It was the Knight Bus that had picked him up that night. But how had he wound up in the hospital…?

"Draco?" Harry's voice cut into this thoughts and he shook his head. "I said, have you ever been people watching?" Draco blinked stupidly.

"Huh… oh! No… what's that?" Harry cast a scrutinizing glance at Draco before he answered.

"It's when you sit around and just watch people. Buses, airports, parks… any public place really. I think it's interesting to just see what people do and imagine what their lives must be like." He hesitated, turning slightly pink, "I don't know. Maybe it's just a muggle thing. Nevermind." Draco shook his head, quickly.

"No!" He protested. "That's sounds like fun, actually." It wasn't a lie; these muggles – the ones who weren't the Dursleys, anyway – were fascinating to him. Or any people, really. There were millions of people who had lives so dramatically separate from his own, and for the first time, he was made to consider all the possibilities. He thought of Weasley's father, whom his own father complained about incessantly. He was beginning to understand a little of the man's obsession. Harry seemed to give a breath of relief, and it occurred to Draco that he had been worried he was being judged. What a silly thought; if anyone here was worthy of judgement, it was he, Draco, who should be worried.

"Good." Said Harry. They were approaching the park, and Harry started walking inward, toward a bench that was situated a little ways off the path. Draco followed, feeling relieved that they were not yet returning to Privet Drive.


	9. Chapter 9

A few minutes of contented silence passed before either of them spoke. Harry stared off into the dry grass of the field, and found himself wishing for a breeze. Today had been such a rollercoaster of events and information that his brain was struggling to catch up. This morning, he had resented Draco, as an enemy. This afternoon, he had been afraid for his death. And now, as the sun slowly moved further down in the sky, they were making plans – as friends – to spend the summer. He thought about how he was going to explain any of this to Ron or Hermione, and how much of Draco's life he could ethically reveal. Draco's voice cut into the silence, making him jump.

"What was it like?" Harry looked round at Draco, seated beside him on the bench. He looked healthier than he had this morning. "What was it like to go to Diagon Alley for the first time?" Harry hadn't expected this question. He thought back, remembering the moment with surprising clarity.

"It was like a dream," said Harry honestly. "Everything happened so quickly." He told the story of how Hagrid had come to get him on his 11th birthday, about how the letters had come for days without him being able to see them. He told him about Dudley's pig tail, and the shotgun, and how he had always thought his parents had been killed in a car wreck.

Draco sat at rapt attention for the entire story, reacting in all the right places. In the back of his mind, Harry acknowledged that Draco was a better story audience than Ron or Hermione had ever been. There was something about his face that made Harry think – truly – that he was the most interesting thing in the world. It made him want to continue talking.

"And then," he was saying, "We went through the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, and I pretty much shat my pants. I'd never seen anything like it. I kept thinking someone was going to wake me up and I'd be back beneath that cupboard. And then I met you." Draco stared blankly at Harry for a second, and realization slowly began to creep into his face.

"The robe shop!" He exclaimed. "I-I," he stammered, further realization dawning on him and wiping the smile from his face, "I asked you about your blood status." A sick look settled on Draco's features.

"Yes you did." Said Harry, chuckling a little at the memory. "I wonder how you would have reacted if my bangs hadn't covered my scar." Draco looked very much like he did _not_ want to talk about this, and so Harry changed the subject.

"Anyway why are you suddenly so interested about my first time in Diagon Alley." Draco's cheeks flushed, shyly.

"O-oh. Well… honestly?" He stopped and waited for Harry to offer him an encouraging nod. "That ice cream shop was the strangest place I've ever seen. And it made me realize that if I'm finding the muggle world so fascinating, it had to be mind-blowing for anyone to find out that they're a wizard if they didn't even know our world exists. I at least knew that muggles were around before I came here."

"It's pretty crazy," agreed Harry. "Ron's dad collects plugs. It's nuts to me and Hermione, but I guess to a pureblood they're pretty odd." A smile broke across Draco's face.

"They are though!" He tinged slighty pink with the admission. "The first day we were here I walked around the guest room and looked at all the electronics. And the light switch." He caught eyes with Harry and both of them suddenly burst into a fit a laughter. Something about this was so delightfully absurd.

They stayed together on the bench for some time, exchanging anecdotes about the various perks and woes of the muggle and magical lifestyles. Harry found himself having a better time than he had all summer, or any summer where he had been stuck at Privet Drive. Colors of the sunset slowly seeped into the air surrounding the hot sun, and they had to return. Harry watched Draco as they walked, a look of calm on his expression, and wondered whether the black hoodie made it hot. He frowned. As they passed under patches of sun, evidence of crying remained on his pale face.

As they walked in to Number 4, they were greeted by the sounds of clanging pans, and the scent of boiled asparagus. Dudley was still in the living room, playing video games, and Uncle Vernon sat at the dining room table, a newspaper opened up across the table. He looked up at the sound of the door.

"There you are!" He announced, rudely. "Thought you'd get out of dinner chores, did you?" He eyed the both of them in dislike, and Harry glanced worriedly at Draco.

"That's why we're here." Said Harry, unable to keep the attitude from his tone. "What'll be, sir?" Beside him, he felt Draco stiffen. Uncle Vernon puffed out his chest, and squared his shoulders as though he were trying to scare off a bear.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy." He began, but Aunt Petunia cut in.

"Oh for heaven's sake! You!" She jabbed a finger at Harry. "Clean the dishes! You!" She pointed to Draco. "Set the table for the dinner!" She turned back to Harry. "If you dare talk to my husband that way again, you can just go right back to your room and I'll send a sandwich through your flap!" Harry glanced back at Draco, feeling a little embarrassed that he was seeing this.

They both obeyed. The asparagus pot steamed as he ran it beneath the water. Bitterly, he thought about how every normal family he had ever met waited until after eating to start the dishes. Across the room, Draco timidly attempted to set the table without disturbing Uncle Vernon or his newspaper. His stomach turned in somersaults, trying to imagine what was going through his head.

"Watch it, boy!" Grunted Uncle Vernon, as Draco bumped the paper.

"S-sorry." Harry could see him avoid eye contact.

When they were finished, Aunt Petunia yelled for Dudley, and for the first time all day, the electronic music stopped blaring from the other room. They felt footsteps as Dudley's enormous person waddled into the kitchen, eyes bloodshot from staring at the screen. He caught sight of the asparagus instantly.

"I'm not going to eat that." He declared, before taking another step into the kitchen.

"Diddykins, the nurse…"

"I don't care about the nurse!" Roared Dudley. "It's summer, ain't it? I'm not eating it!" Draco had gone completely still. He was visibly attempting to look anywhere but at the commotion ahead of him.

"Just one, Diddykins?" Negotiated Aunt Petunia. "Look, I've fixed you a nice plate with meat and potatoes see?"

Eventually Dudley was talked into eating half a piece of the asparagus, in exchange for an extra helping of steak. Harry questioned how this was conductive Dudley's diet, but knew better than to voice this.

The table fell into an atmosphere of silence, pierced by the clanging and scraping of forks on plates.

"So Mrs. Parkins down street," began Aunt Petunia to Uncle Vernon, "I think she's having an affair."

"Huh," grunted Uncle Vernon.

"Mhm!" Nodded Petunia proudly, appearing slightly ruffled that he did not seem to take as much interest in this matter as she did. "There's been a strange car parking on the drive at the same time every afternoon. And it's always gone before Mr. Parkins gets home."

Aunt Petunia continued to talk for the rest of dinner, receiving little more than grunts in response from either her husband or her son. For a short while, Uncle Vernon lectured on the importance of punctuality, and how good it was for appearances, and Dudley, who had done nothing of note all day, simply complained that his video game was rigged against him. Privately, Harry wondered how long it would be before this set was broken.

Finally, dinner was over. Harry noted with a slight sense of triumph that this time, Draco had not run off to the bathroom to be sick. After dinner the Dursleys retreated to the living room, leaving he and Draco to finish clearing the table, do the dishes, and clean the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, as soon as they were alone. Draco was scrubbing the stovetop.

"I'm doing alright for now," he answered, shakily. It was clear to Harry that the future of Draco's dinner remained hanging in the balance. "Thanks for today." He said quietly. Harry stopped in the middle of wiping down the counter.

"You're welcome." He replied. "Thank _you_. It was really nice to have company." Draco looked up and offered a crooked smile.

"Glad I could help." Both went back to their tasks without a further word. As they finished up, Harry pondered how he would have never guessed that Draco's presence would lead to a tolerable summer. He had told Ron and Hermione that Draco had been staying here, and he had even told them that Draco wasn't as terrible as he used to be. And yet, he couldn't help but hesitate to tell them about this truce.

No matter how hard they tried, neither Ron or Hermione could ever fully understand what it felt like to feel as lonely as he did at Privet Drive. Draco had done a lot of horrible things to both of them over the years; and he had a hard time believing they would be open to the idea of trusting him. Harry couldn't blame them.

As they completed their chores, Harry began to wish with a painful, bitter longing that could write to Sirius. Sirius, more than anyone, would have understood. Greif suddenly clutching him by the stomach and wrenching with all its might, Harry found himself stolen for breath. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be alone. Harry gave the kitchen sink a final wipe down, shut off the tap, and – in a tight voice – announced to Draco that he was going upstairs. Draco followed, and seemed to notice Harry's change in attitude.

"Are you alright?" Harry stared straight ahead.

"I'm fine." He responded, concisely. "I'm going to take a shower." Without waiting for a response, he ducked into the restroom and locked the door behind him.

"Alright…" Called Draco from the other side. "I-If you want talk, you know where I am." There was a tone of sadness in Draco's voice that made the fist in Harry's stomach clench even harder. He stepped beneath the stream and sat down on the shower floor.

As much as he might want to, the last thing in the world that Draco needed was for Harry to fall apart.


	10. Chapter 10

July passed sluggishly into August. Harry and Draco had gone to the cinema on Harry's birthday, and Draco had given him an old pocket watch he had stolen from the manor. Draco was still cutting (to his credit, less), though he had kept true to his word and had kept Harry in the know about this. Harry wasn't pleased, but at least agreed to keep quiet. As strange as it seemed, the past fortnight had been more enjoyable than any summer Draco had had in the past 5 years. The consistent nausea he had been feeling had faded, and he was beginning to gain weight.

Things still weren't completely right. Draco awoke frequently from nightmares, and despite his instance to the contrary, Draco couldn't help but feel that something was upsetting Harry. Once, after Draco had lost a particularly bad match against his razorblade, he had gone into Harry's room, only to find Harry crying over an old photo album. Draco had tried to approach him about it then, but Harry caught sight of his arm and refused to shift the focus to himself.

It bothered Draco that he had shared so much of himself with Harry, only to have him refuse to share anything with him. A deep, gnawing sense of insecurity followed him like a shadow, and would not allow him to confront Harry on his secretive behavior.

Presently, he sat on the edge of the frilly pink bed, his hoodie sleeves bunched up around his elbows. Tucked inside one of the wooden dresser drawers, a razorblade was hidden, calling to Draco silently, causing a crawling sensation to erupt up and down his forearms. He stared at them. A cluster of 5 cuts sat at the top of his left wrist, crusted and yellowing; the source of an itch that had been agonizing him for days. Beneath them, a set of 4 sat, still only 2 days old, bright red against his pale skin.

He was going to stop this. Really. He was. He had promised, Harry, hadn't he, that he would go to him before pulling out the blade?

 _He doesn't trust you,_ chimed a horrible voice in the back of his head _. He won't even tell you what's wrong. If you're not worthy of his trust, why bother him with this?_ Draco tried to shrug it off.

 _That isn't true,_ he reasoned _. Maybe he's just trying to protect me._

 _Ha!_ Responded the voice _. How is that any better? He thinks you're weak!_

Inside, his stomach twisted in anxious knots. When had he gotten so pathetic? Across the hall, he could still hear the sounds of the shower running. It felt like it had been hours since Harry had gotten in. A wave of hatred passed through him; Harry should be allowed the luxury of a shower without having to worry about him.

Draco sighed. He knew that if he remained sitting here any longer, he was sure to lose the battle against the deep, creeping pull that was drawing him toward the dresser. He needed to get away from the house before that happened. Draco stood and pulled his journal from the drawer in the bedside table, and tore an empty page from the back. He scrawled a quick note to Harry and slid it beneath the bathroom door, and thundered down the stairs and out the front door.

The air was thick with heat, and as Draco began to walk the familiar trek to the park, he felt heavy beneath his clothes. His wrists were still crawling, and he sighed. He had been hoping the fresh air would lighten his mood, but the dense atmosphere only made him feel more trapped and burdensome.

What if Harry had taken so long in the shower because he had been desperate to escape him? What if the note Draco had slid beneath the bathroom door was too clingy? Perhaps Harry didn't need to know exactly where he was at all hours of the day. Maybe he didn't want to know. His trainers scuffed the sidewalk as he walked. He tried to change his train of thought; to focus on the happier times he had since arriving at Privet Drive.

 _Harry appreciates your company as much as you appreciate his,_ he lectured. _He doesn't enjoy it here, either._

 _Exactly,_ responded his anxieties _. You're a last resort. He'll drop you the moment you return to school._

The crawling sensation intensified. He glared down at the concrete, only barely paying attention to where he was going. _You've got to stop this, Draco. You're fine. Everything is fine._

If only he could make himself believe it.

He reached the park and the gate creaked open as he went through it. Automatically, he crossed the field to the swing set and sat down. The park was mostly deserted, save for a few kids playing with a ball on the other side of the playground, and a mother on a bench. Draco pushed off slightly and began to drag his shoes through the sand. At least here he was removed from his razorblade.

He allowed his mind to wander. He thought about how much more comfortable he would be if he could only remove this hoodie. He thought about what his father would say if he ever saw him dressed the way he was.

His mind drifted, following that thread until he arrived on the night of the Yule Ball, 4th year.

 _Draco stood in front the mirror, straightening the collar of his robes for what must be the 10th time in the previous half hour. No matter what he did, he just couldn't get it to look right. Anxiety surged through him; pumping heat through his body with every heartbeat. It wasn't possible; it just wasn't. These were custom tailored robes. "The best that money could buy," as has father had so eagerly put it. If the robes weren't the problem, then it had to be him…_

" _Malfoy! Are you planning on coming down any time today?" Blaise appeared behind Draco's reflection, his eyebrows raised in half-amusement, half-irritation. "Your hair is lovely, ma'am, now others of us need mirror." Draco's cheeks flushed pink, and - unable to help himself - he glanced upward to confirm that his hair was, indeed, perfect. He had been dreading this night for months, and now it seemed that the time had come. There was nothing he could do about it._

" _Well, Blaise." He heard himself answer, cooly, prying his eyes away from the mirror. "Some of us want to look presentable. It is your family that you're representing, you know." He felt a brief rush of disgust over these words, and continued. "Besides, I don't know about you, but I plan on getting lucky tonight." Blaise doubled over in a snort of laughter, and Draco felt his cheeks flush even deeper._

" _Right, Malfoy. Have you even kissed Parkinson, yet?" He waited for an answer, and when he got none, he fell back into laughing. "She isn't interested in your money; her parents are loaded. Let's face it; you've got nothing." The heavy weight that had settled in Draco's stomach suddenly doubled. He knew that his father was expecting this night to be a success. It would be Draco's first time at a formal occasion by himself. As far as his father was concerned, this would be a test of his manners for when he was offered to another pureblood family for marriage. If he screwed this up, he could be jeopardizing the future of the Malfoy name._

" _I'm Slytherin's seeker!" He cried out, trying not to sound defensive. Blaise just shook his head, still laughing, and Draco felt a slight lump develop in his throat._

" _Not a very good one! Not good enough to get you in bed, anyway." He finally stopped laughing, and made a show of wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Beneath his robe sleeves, Draco felt a familiar crawling on his forearms. He straightened his posture in a dignified way and said, arrogantly,_

" _We'll just have to see about that, Zabini." Blaise reached out and rested a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder._

" _Good luck, Malfoy, honestly." He paused, catching Draco's eye to make it clear that he wanted to continue. "But next time, don't get your robes tailored so soon. Looks like you may have put on a few." He gave a wink, and disappeared through the door._

 _Draco stayed rooted to the spot, his anxiety beginning to flare up and ignite into full-blown panic. The part of his brain that had been trying to keep him calm faded away with the confirmation that he had been right all along. His head whirred, and he fought with the desire to tear his robes off all together and put his fist through the mirror behind him. He had failed…_

 _There was a knock on the door._

" _Draco? Draco, it's Pansy. Darling, it will be time to begin, soon."_

" _Just a minute!" He called out. He hoped she wouldn't hear the vibrato of his voice. "I-I'll meet you by the Grand Staircase!"_

" _Well… alright." She answered, and Draco could sense her hesitation. "Don't be too long! I'll be waiting for you!" He heard her footsteps as she went away. He stared down at his feet, trying to will them to move. Around him, he felt like the walls were moving closer. He had failed…_

 _Finally, Draco was able to uproot his feet from the floor, and he found himself floating toward the washroom. His fingers shook. He couldn't cut, he reminded himself. It would bleed through the sleeves of his robes, and he would be caught. He would just wash his face, he thought. He would just cool himself down and then he would meet Pansy by the stairs. Everything was fine._

 _He caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror, and the expression in his own eyes sent him into further panic and disgust. He had let his family down. Word was sure to get to his father that he let himself fall out of shape. That he had rendered his ludicrously expensive dress robes virtually useless. Draco stared himself down, glaring at his own image until the expression on his face changed from anger and panic into one of determination. Without stopping to think about it he knelt down in front of the toilet and shoved his finger down his throat…_

"Where's your boyfriend?" Draco jumped, having been yanked out of his thoughts, and then suppressed a groan. Dudley and his gang stood before him, appearing absolutely delighted that they had caught him alone. Draco felt a wave a fear travel down his spine, but he straightened up and tried to make himself sound bored.

"You know as well as I do that he isn't my boyfriend, Dursley." Dudley smirked, a took a few steps closer to the swing.

"Ah but you do seem to be getting pretty chummy, don't you?" He asked. Draco wasn't sure how to respond, and so he didn't. "Which is pretty interesting, I'd say," continued Dudley. "Since he was pretty vocal about how much he didn't like you." Draco stared. "Now why is that?"

"W-why is what?" He stammered. Inwardly, he scolded himself for having let the confidence drop from his voice. Dudley seemed to pick up on this, because a look of glee flashed across his watery blue eyes.

"Why does he hate you so much?" He asked, and Draco felt a squirming sensation in his stomach over Dudley's use of the present tense. "What did you do?" Draco still said nothing and so Dudley turned to look at the two boys flanking him, in a way that reminded Draco very much of himself at Hogwarts with Crabbe and Goyle.

"You know what I think, boys?" Dudley said to them. "I think _Draco_ here," he put emphasis on Draco's name, as though it were a joke, "was a bully. Potter always was the high and mighty type. You must have been a real prat for him to hate you." Draco held his glare.

"What of it, Dursley?" He spat. "You're one to talk." Draco's grin widened, so it looked as though someone had taken a great rubber ball and stretched it to its limits.

"So then your family dumped you, didn't they? Dropped you off here like an unwanted belonging. And you come crawling to Potter, abandoning everything you stood for because you're so desperate for someone to be nice to you. How'd you fuck it up? How'd you get your family to drop you?"

"Fuck off." Draco mumbled. Dudley's face contorted into rage and - with a massive fist - he shoved Draco backwards off the swing. He hit the ground hard, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him. As he lay gasping in the sand, Dudley bent over so his face was directly over Draco's.

"You don't get to talk to me like that, freak." He growled in a very threatening tone. "Don't think you're special just because Potter's decided to be nice to you. That moron will be sunshine and rainbows to any fucker that smiles at him. You're even more pathetic than him, and if he hasn't figured that out by now he definitely will." Putting his hands out behind him, Draco tried to push himself into a sitting position, but Dudley shoved him back down.

"Stay on the ground." He commanded. "Like the garbage you are." He lifted one enormous boot and stepped down on Draco's chest, putting just enough pressure on his sternum that it erupted into an explosion of extreme pain. Draco bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, and the taste of metal seeped into his mouth as the skin broke and he began to bleed. "You don't deserve the food you eat." Snarled Dudley. He spat into Draco's face, and then released the pressure on his foot and stepped back. He turned to his crones.

"Let's go." They left, but Draco stayed laying on the ground for another moment as his throat tightened and tears began to flood his vision. His bleeding lip quivered and he sniffed, trying to regain his composure, but Dudley's spit sat the bridge of his nose reminding him of what had just happened.

He sat up and wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoodie and when he had pulled his arm away, he was aware of wetness on his cheeks. He threw a glance in the direction of the mother on the bench, holding a deep resentment toward her for not stepping in.

 _It isn't her problem,_ said a bitter voice in his head. _It shouldn't be anybody's problem_. He pulled himself back up onto the swing, yanking the hood up over his head. He stared down as his knees, watching tears drip off his long nose and drop, one by one, onto his jeans. He wondered why Harry hadn't come to meet him yet. Maybe Dudley had been right…

If his body could talk, his wrists would be screaming. Sniffing, and wiping his cheeks with the sleeve that hadn't been sullied by Dudley's spit, he stood from the swing and began walking, quickly, back toward the house.

How could he have been so stupid to think that Harry would have been okay with this? That Harry genuinely wanted to spend his summer dealing with Draco and his problems? Sure, he kept him company, but how selfish was it to concern him with everything else? After all, Harry had made it very clear that he was willing to have him committed to a hospital. At the time, Draco had seen it as protective. Maybe he was looking for an excuse to be rid of him… Maybe he had been stupid when he had promised not to try anything…

Draco reached the driveway, and was relieved to see that the car was gone; the Dursley's weren't home. Perfect. Yanking the hood off his head, he stomped up the stairs and nearly walked straight into Harry's room before he thought better of it and headed to his own instead. After all, if Harry really wanted to see him, he would have gone to meet him at the park. Another rush of despair passed through him.

He slammed the bedroom door leaned back against it. Tears began to stream steadily down his cheeks again, and he did nothing to stop them. He caught sight of a paper on the pillow and he picked it up, the writing blurry through the sheen of wetness in his eyes.

 _Draco,_

 _Have fun on your walk! I didn't sleep well last night, and so I'm going to take a short nap. If you need anything, it's okay to wake me._

Draco wondered for a moment if he should, but the nasty voice reminded him that it would only make him more of a nuisance than he already was. He let the note drop to the floor and he crossed the room to the dresser. He checked that the door was locked, and then he pulled out the razorblade. He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it into the corner. He sat back down on the bed. This was for all the times he had brought Harry's summer down with his whining.

Draco set to work. There was something freeing about the experience; releasing all of the the guilt he had been feeling about taking Harry's time. It had been weeks since he had cut without restriction. When all was said and done, there were 15 pretty perfect lines laid out across his milk-white flesh, each of them dripping patterns of precious ruby down his skin. As he stared down at his handiwork, a sob escaped his throat.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

Thoughts of suicide began to swim around inside his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry awoke in the awkward light of late afternoon as it began to sink slowly into evening. His head ached, his eyes ached, and a confused voice in the back of his head questioned why Draco hadn't woken him. He sat up, groaning, unable to decide whether Draco's absence was a good or a bad sign.

After a few moments of preparation, Harry stood - with considerable effort - from the bed. He shuffled first down the hallway to use the toilet, and then went to Draco's door, and knocked.

"Draco?" He called. "Are you here?" There wasn't an answer, but after a few seconds of silence, the door opened slowly with a creak. Draco's face appeared in the gap, seeming pale. Harry was startled to see that his eyes were lined in red.

"You've been crying." He said, surprise obvious on his voice. Draco simply stared.

"Did you have a good nap, then?" Harry's stomach flipped.

"Uhm…" He started, suddenly having a hard time finding the words. "Y-you're not mad at me are you?" Draco shook his head, and took a few steps backward to allow Harry into the room. "Are you okay?" Harry crossed the room and took a seat on Aunt Petunia's atrocious pink guest bed. Draco sat beside him and for awhile he just stared down at his knees. He was wearing the hoodie, and Harry's eyes were drawn immediately to the fact that his fingers were closed tightly around the sleeves.

"I'm fine." By the time Draco answered, Harry had nearly forgotten that he had asked the question. Harry shook his head.

"Uh uh." He said. "I"m not buying it. What's the matter?" Draco simply crossed his arms and held himself, tightly.

"Nothing." He insisted. "Just… the same old stuff, I guess." A look of pure disgust crossed Draco's face as he said this. "It's fine." Harry squirmed. It had been awhile since Draco had been so closed off about something that was upsetting him.

"It doesn't seem very fine," Harry pressed, in a manner that was nearly timid. "I told you you could wake me up…" Draco shook his head, and Harry saw his eyes narrow into a glare.

"No." Said Draco, aggressively. "It's not worth that kind of bother." Though he hadn't said so, Harry got the distinct feeling that when Draco said "it" he really meant that _he_ wasn't worth the bother, and his insides sank sadly. He wished that he had gone to find Draco instead of taking a nap. Maybe he could have done something to prevent this. His eyes traveled again to Draco's sleeves.

"Draco… did you…?" Draco's pale, slender fingers closed tighter around the sleeves, causing his knuckles to turn completely white.

"No." Said Draco, too quickly for Harry's comfort. "T-that's why I took a walk. S-so I could get away." It was clear to Harry that Draco was hiding something, and he felt suddenly cold with the realization that he was being lied to. He thought that Draco had trusted him… He took a step nearer to Draco, trying to catch him in the eye.

"Get away from what, Draco?" He asked, calmly. "Do you have a razor blade in here?" Draco's gaze finally met his, and he could feel guilt as it radiated from the grey irises of his eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

"Yes." He whispered. He fought to keep his face impassive. His fingers, trembling slightly, gave away his inner turmoil.

"Give it to me, please." He requested. Draco did not argue. Without another word he walked over to the dresser, and placed a small metal object in Harry's palm. He closed his fingers around it, and deposited the blade in his pocket. Then he reached out both arms, and took Draco by the shoulders. "It's going to be okay." Draco's eyes shone with tears, and Harry again had the sensation that he been punched in the gut. This was his fault.

"I believe you," answered Draco in voice that suggested nothing of the sort. Harry stood in the silence for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He did not by any stretch of the imagination believe that Draco was okay, yet at the same time he worried that pressing him too hard would only make the situation worse. He frowned.

"Listen, Draco." He said gently. "If there's ever anything that you want to talk about, please come to me." He forced the paler boy to make eye contact and Draco nodded once. He still had a distant reluctant quality to him that made him feel as though he were trying to pull away. Suddenly, Draco froze, and met Harry's gaze with his own.

"You know," he said hesitantly. "Y-you can always come to me, too. If… if you're ever… you know…" He flushed and looked away, and Harry felt a ball of lead drop into his stomach. So he had noticed.

"Draco, I…" He stopped. He wasn't sure what to say. "It's not you…" Draco face looked as though he severely doubted this, and Harry pressed onward. "I just… I need to be alone sometimes, that's all. You… you understand, right?" Draco stood in contemplation for a long while, his expression unreadable. His features set.

"Y-yeah." He answered, with a half-convincing nod. "I understand. It's okay."

Downstairs, Aunt Petunia called for dinner.

Five minutes later, each seated around the Dursley's cramped and frilly dining room table, Harry watched Draco with immense scrutiny as he worked to tune out the shrill drawl of Aunt Petunia blabbering on about the day. Draco - not unusually - kept his eyes resolutely on his plate, shoving his food about in an effort to make a show of eating. Harry cleared his throat, meaningfully, and catching Harry's eye, Draco began cutting his dinner into dime-sized pieces and spearing them one by one into his mouth. Something uneasy twisted inside of Harry's stomach, though he couldn't quite place the cause.

Across the table, Dudley - abandoning all table manners - was shoving an entire dinner roll into his mouth at once. His rat eyes flitted around the kitchen, stopping here and there, before landing on Draco and fixing, meanly, on his fork as he lifted it toward his mouth. Draco noticed this and stopped moving at once, his fork frozen midway between the plate and his mouth.

Aggression rose up within Harry, who locked his own gaze onto Dudley, and narrowed his eyes as if issuing a silent threat. Dudley merely smirked, cottoning on to Draco's discomfort and said,

"Hungry tonight, are you, blondie?" Draco acted as though he hadn't heard, though from Harry's position, he could see his body tense up.

"Mind your business, Diddykins." Said Harry, loudly. "You aren't one to talk about appetites. I can hardly imagine how your mother can cook enough to feed you." Dudley's eyes narrowed and turned his posture to place his focus on Harry. Tension sat sparking on the air.

"That's enough!" Barked Uncle Vernon. Beside Harry, Draco jumped. Mumbling beneath his breath, Harry returned to his dinner. Dudley, much to Harry's irritation, resumed staring at Draco, who slowed his eating pace to the point where - were it not for Harry's prodding - he would not be eating at all.

After an agonizingly drawn out meal, dinner at Number 4 finally drew to a close. Harry, who had been quite concerned that Dudley's staring would upset Draco, was pleased to see that that he stuck around to help with dishes, and had not run to the bathroom. Draco remained quiet in the 20 minutes that they stayed in the kitchen, and responded only barely to Harry's feeble attempts to start a conversation.

With each short and distant response, Harry's anxiety grew. He could not bring himself to say this to Draco, but he had avoided him this morning because he had spent much of it crying. The raw reality of loss had finally begun to hit him; he was truly feeling the absence of Sirius, and it was unfair of him to saddle Draco - who was already so fragile - with the knowledge that he, Harry, was barely hanging on. And yet, it seemed that in his attempts to protect him, he was beginning to cause him pain.

The kitchen clean, Harry led the way back upstairs. He was on the point of inviting Draco into his room when Draco stopped to use the bathroom. Interpreting this as an effort to avoid conversation, Harry nodded in acceptance, and returned to his bedroom.

Harry sighed and - with a slight smile - noticed that Hedwig had returned through the open window and was waiting dutifully for him to take the letter that had been tied neatly to her leg. Harry did so, shaking the letter open eagerly.

 _Harry,_

 _I know it must be hard for you to spend summer so far removed from the rest of the Order. I know nothing can alleviate your loss, but perhaps being surrounded by others who have felt his loss could have been a comfort. I've written to Dumbledore about the possibility of you coming to stay with Ron and I at the Burrow, but it seems Draco being there has really put a damper on things. I do hope he is treating you well, Harry, because if he hasn't I'll be happy to give him another slap for you. For what it's worth, I'd suggest you start to write down your feelings in journal or something. Say the things you wish you could have said to Sirius. And it will do well to remember that he would not have wanted to sacrifice his life just for you to go off and put yourself in danger, so stay safe!_

 _Ron and I miss you very much; Fred and George have been a nightmare since their shop's been a success. You can't go two steps around here without something exploding or turning into a rubber chicken, or god knows what else. Mrs. Weasley pretends to be annoyed but it's obvious she's just proud of them for doing well. It's really shame you aren't here, Harry, because Ron's been making me practice Quidditch with him and I'm a right awful seeker. Plus I expect you've been getting it from Malfoy about the season next year, so I can imagine you'd like to practice. Maybe you can use some of it to help you prepare against Slytherin._

 _I've got to go and help with breakfast now, but I'll write you again soon. Your last letter was a little short; maybe some detail next time?_

 _Hope to see you soon,_

 _Hermione_

A heavy, restrictive sense of loneliness settled over Harry as his eyes scanned over the final sentence of the letter. Live continued at the Burrow without him, without Sirius, as though nothing were different in the world. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Of course they were sad, Harry reasoned. They too had known and cared for Sirius. He could imagine things were hard even on Mrs. Weasley, despite how often she and Sirius had quarrelled. And yet, here he was; far away at Privet Drive, kept away from anyone who might understand.

Harry reread the bits about Draco and frowned. He couldn't fault Hermione for not knowing that Quidditch was the last thing for which Draco would be concerned, but he couldn't help but feel protective over him in a way he couldn't understand. Whether she would like it or not, Draco had been there for him more this summer than she or Ron had, and he wasn't even fully aware of what was going on. Somehow, this made him feel guilty, and wondered - for the third time that day - whether he was doing the right thing in keeping his misery a secret.

To Harry's dismay, Draco's distant attitude had not dissolved by the following morning, or - in fact - by the end of the week. He avoided eye contact wherever possible and, whenever Harry tried, he rebuffed all invitations to go out for ice cream or even to just spend time with Harry in his room. More than once, Harry found himself on the edge of straight up demanding that Draco roll up his sleeves and show him his wrists, but each time he had lost the courage, worried that taking a demanding approach would only push him further away.

After lunch on Saturday afternoon, Harry was on his was back to his bedroom when he was stopped by the sounds of retching coming from the other side of the bathroom door. He froze, his entire body slowly becoming enveloped by a combination of sadness and dread. He had thought - foolishly, it seemed - that Draco had gotten over his stress sickness. He leaned up against the wall outside, and waited for the bathroom door to open.

Draco caught sight of Harry straight away and jumped.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" He stammered. Harry noticed a pinkish tinge to Draco's cheeks, as though he were embarrassed by the situation. Harry frowned.

"Long enough," he answered. "What's going on? I thought you'd gotten past all that." Draco shifted uncomfortably, and keeping his eyes on the floor he muttered,

"Guess not." He shuffled across the carpeted hallway into his bedroom, and Harry followed. From the furtive glances cast in his direction, he wondered privately whether he was welcome. Draco sat down on the edge of frilly bed and began flipping through the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages that Harry had lent him, though it was clear that he wasn't actually taking anything in. Harry sat on the desk chair and watched him awkwardly.

Something didn't feel right, though Harry couldn't place whether his unease was stemming from his own troubles over Sirius or if came from Draco's recent behavior. He had been quieter lately; more withdrawn and a lot less confident. Yet despite Harry's constant reassurance and attempts to speak with him about, Draco remained stubborn. A heaviness sat inside of Harry, and he began to wonder whether he had done something wrong. Summer had started off rocky, sure, but the future had held so much promise. He was unsure where that promise had gone to, now.

The sound of rustled paper broke into his thoughts, and his vision came to focus again. He glanced toward Draco and then back again something red captured his attention. He was across the room in seconds.

"Draco, you're bleeding." The other boy looked up in alarm, and scrambled to check that his hoodie sleeves were pulled completely over his wrists. It did no good. The blood that Harry had seen did not come from his wrists. It was - more disturbingly - coming from a wound on the back of Draco's index finger, just above his knuckle. Harry's insides disappeared and he grabbed Draco's hand and pulled it in front of his face before the other had a chance to resist.

"L-let go!" Draco protested weakly, and tried to pull his hand back. Harry set his face into a look of determination and he forced eye contact.

"Look at me, Draco." He said firmly. "No, stop. Look at me." Recognizing that he had no other option, Draco did.

"Is your hand bleeding because you've been making yourself throw up?" Draco didn't answer, but looked away, which Harry took as all the confirmation that he need. "How long have you been doing this, Draco?" His voice rose, slightly. "Have you been doing this the whole time?" Draco shook his head.

"N-no. Not the whole time."

"How long?" Harry repeated, firmly. "Tell me." Draco bit down on his lower lip.

"S-since last week." Draco finally answered him. "It's only been a week." Harry let go of his hand, knowing that if he followed his instinct and rolled up Draco's sleeve, he wasn't going to like the result. He felt a certain tightness in his throat that had grown familiar to him over the previous month.

"Why, Draco?" He asked, pleadingly. "And why wouldn't you tell me?" Draco shrugged, and wrapped his arms around himself.

"I dunno." He mumbled. Harry swallowed hard.

"Have I done something?" He asked, finally. "Did I do something to make you mad? I don't know why you're avoiding me all of the sudden but I don't like it." Draco's head snapped up and Harry was startled to see that his eyes were narrowed in a glare.

"You're one to talk about avoiding people!" He snapped. His voice broke slightly and Harry could tell that he was on the edge of tears. "You want me to dump all my secrets on you but you won't even tell me why you're upset!" His voice began to raise in volume. "Why is that, Harry, huh? You don't trust me? You're planning on dumping me as soon as we get back to school?" The biting accusation in Draco's tone was painful. Harry had to blink a few times to clear his vision.

"Draco, that's… that's ridiculous…" Draco glared harder.

"Is it?" He asked. "Do you even care about me or are you just putting up with me because I'm the last resort you've got?" When Harry said nothing, Draco continued talking, tears beginning to spill over and run down his cheeks. "I'm not even good enough for you, am I?" He asked miserably. "Even locked up in a house full of horrible people, you won't even trust me!" He sniffed, rubbing impatiently at his face. "I guess I deserve it all. I never did anything to earn it." He broke off into crying for a moment and Harry sat frozen on the bed.

Around him, the air began to crash and fall. In all his effort to protect Draco, he had only succeeded in adding to his misery. He was only pulled from his own self-deprecating rampage when Draco said, though sobs,

"Maybe I should have just killed myself." He shook himself out of it, and - wiping tears from his own eyes - he grabbed Draco firmly by the shoulders.

"Draco, stop it. Do not talk like that." Draco glared at him.

"Why not? It's true." Suppressing a growl, Harry took a few deep breaths before he answered.

"You want to know why I've been so distant, Draco?" He asked. "Fine, I'll tell you. At the department of Mysteries last month, with the prophecy and Voldemort and all the Death Eaters? My godfather was killed. Murdered. By your Aunt Bellatrix, and I watched the whole thing happen and couldn't save him. I miss him. He's the only person I can think of that would understand what I'm going through and I can't talk to him because he's dead." Harry didn't realize when he had started crying. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to add any more stress to you."

Draco's expression changed instantly and he reached out and pulled Harry into a hug.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. They sat like that, crying, and Harry took a moment to think about how stupid they both must look. When Draco pulled away, and Harry began to wipe his eyes on his shirt, it occurred to him that his stomach and run off somewhere during the exchange, and had been replaced by an odd, flighty emptiness that he had felt before but could not remember where.

Draco sighed and stared down at the bedspread, fingering the cuff of his hoodie as he did so.

"I lied to you," he said into the silence. "I'm sorry." Harry pushed his glasses onto his face.

"What do you mean, Draco?" He asked. Draco shook his sleeve down so that his arm was exposed. Harry's stomach returned, much heavier than it had been before it had gone. In the past week, Draco had torn his arm to shreds. "Draco!" He gasped. "What? What happened?" Draco kept his eyes on the sheets.

"I guess it started last week." He mumbled. "I met Dudley in the park."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry's reaction to Draco's statement was immediate. The sadness and emotion that had been written on his face melted almost seamlessly into an expression of intense, radiating anger, and he stood from the bed, fists clenched and jaw set in a way that made Draco recoil from him.

"What did he do to you, Draco?" Harry's words were tense, laid out through gritted teeth. The last time that Draco had seen this look on Harry it had been when he had insulted his mother in the previous year. It was - quite honestly - terrifying, and it gave him second doubts as to whether he should continue.

"N-nothing." He stammered, his stomach flipping uncomfortably. "It was nothing." He refused to make eye-contact with Harry. Not while he was like this.

"It clearly wasn't nothing, Draco." Harry growled. "Tell me what he did." Draco looked up at Harry, pleadingly, from his position on the bed.

"Okay." He said quietly. "But you need to calm down." Draco's fingers trembled, slightly. He knew it wasn't him that he was angry with, but it didn't make it any less intimidating. Harry seemed to look himself over for a second before the rage lines in his expression began to smooth. He sighed.

"I'm sorry." His voice was much gentler. "Tell me what happened." Harry still did not sit down, but instead crossed his arms and stared down at the carpet beneath his feet, bracingly. Draco wrung his hands, nervously, and when he spoke he had to push the words out, with effort.

"W-well," he began. "You were in the shower, and I -" He stopped. And he what? "I…" He stopped again, took a deep breath, and looked Harry in the eye. "I really wanted to cut." He said finally. "And I knew you don't like it, so I went for a walk. You know that already." Harry nodded, his green eyes shining with intensity, clearly focusing all of his energy onto listening to Draco's story.

"S-so…" He continued. "I went to the park."

"And Dudley was there?" Asked Harry. Draco wished that he would sit down. He shook his head.

"Not, right away, no. I was just sitting on the swing… thinking…" Harry must have picked up on the hesitation in Draco's voice when he said this, because he cut in, asking,

"Thinking about what?" Draco felt his cheeks flush pink, and he focused his eyes on his knees. He knew that if he lied to Harry now, he would know. On his right hand, his fingers bled, red raw and painful in the cool air of the house. He felt vaguely sick.

He had no choice. He was going to have to talk about it, one way or the other.

"The Yule Ball." He settled for saying. "Fourth year." For a moment, Harry said nothing, and in that moment Draco prayed to whatever gods were listening that he would ask for no more detail.

"What happened at the Yule Ball, Draco?" Damn. Draco sighed, shifting in his seat and stretching his hoodie sleeve downward so that it covered the fingers on his hand. He glanced upward at Harry, still towering above him, and felt suddenly like a small child being lectured by an angry parent.

"Could you sit down?" He asked, quietly. Shooting him a slightly impatient look, Harry obliged, and Draco shifted as Harry's weight bent the mattress and sent him leaning toward him on the bed.

"What happened at the Yule Ball?" Harry asked again. Still refusing to make eye contact, Draco continued his story to the frilly pink bedspread between them.

"It was the first time I did it." He held his breath, waiting.

"The first time you did what, Draco? Cut?" Biting down on his lower lip, Draco shook his head. No… no, he had been cutting for a long while by then. There was a horrible silence. "You… you're talking about the first time you made yourself throw up?" Draco closed his eyes. Then, very slowly, he nodded in affirmation.

"Yes." He heard himself whisper into the darkness. He clenched his fists. Harry took longer to answer than he expected. When he did, the rage and tension had gone from his voice completely. In fact, if you asked Draco, he'd say Harry was trying not to break him.

"I thought you told me you'd only done that once or twice." Despite his efforts to stay calm, there was a pained undertone to Harry's words, and it sent Draco's insides into a roller-coaster of self-degradation. He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of Harry's concerned expression, and it nearly sent him into tears again.

"Well… it… it wasn't that much." Said Draco, pleadingly. "Not like it was every day or something just… just like twice a week or so… and it was only on and off!" Harry looked horrified and, ashamed, Draco looked away. "A-anyway… the first time was right before the Yule Ball… Cuz of Zabini, you know? He… he was teasing me." Draco cringed, physically, over how pathetic this sounded. "A-and my robes didn't look right and… and everything had to be perfect or… or my father -" Here, Draco stopped dead. He looked imploringly toward Harry who held up a hand in a gesture that told him he was allowed to stop. Relief flooded through him.

"We'll come back to this later," Said Harry. "Because you're clearly doing it again." Guilt flared up inside of Draco, who had been throwing up every day since his encounter with Dudley in the park. "Tell me what happened next."

Taking a deep breath, Draco recounted his altercation with Dudley in the park.

"A-and you were av-voiding me and I didn't know why, and… and I figured he was p-probably right so… so I came back here and… and I didn't want to wake you so… I… I figured I was just a bother. And, well…" He displayed his forearm as if to make a point. Draco wished Harry would take on a less sober expression.

"Draco," began Harry, in a tone of deliberate calm. "I warned you your first day here that Dudley was going to be prat. You can't take him seriously." Draco felt a stab of anger. _As though it were as simple that,_ he thought ruefully. He was slightly insulted by the idea that Harry assumed his problems could be solved by simply willing it. Perhaps Harry noticed this, because he said: "I just mean, he's a liar. And you can damn sure that anything Dudley Dursley has to say in way of me is big fat load of shit. He will never, ever, have the authority to tell people my personal feelings on them, because I doubt he even understands the concept of anything more complex than hunger or anger or greed."

Draco cast him a skeptical look.

"He was right about a couple things," he pointed out. "He knew you didn't like me because I was a bully." He felt what was left of his insides sink even further. Harry shrugged dramatically.

"Well, so what, Draco?" And his voice was becausing to grow louder, less gentle. "Does that mean he knows anything about what's happened since you got here? Does that give him the power to commentate on how the situation is in the present?" Draco shrunk into himself, feeling stupid. He had fallen prey to Dudley so easily. It was no wonder Harry was angry with him. He deserved this.

"No." He said quietly, to his knees. "I'm sorry." Harry stared at him, incredulously.

"I'm not angry with you, Draco." He said, a note of surprise in his voice.

"Well then you should be," mumbled Draco. "I shouldn't have listened. I should have woken you up. I shouldn't have cut. I shouldn't have shoved my fingers down my throat." His voice was beginning to rise, hysterically. "It's my fault." he barked. "This is all happening because of me."

Dismay was painted across Harry's face.

"No!" he insisted, forcefully, reaching out and grabbing Draco's shoulders. He winced. "Draco, listen to me. It isn't your fault. Dudley's a cunt. He was _trying_ to hurt you. This is no more your fault than if he had beat you up. I'm just trying to help you see that he's just a stupid bully. I want you to be okay, Draco, but I'm not angry with you because you're not." There was silence for a moment. "I'm just scared."

It was apparent to Draco that Harry meant this sincerely, and the force of this realization impacted him like a kick to the chest. Another living soul was genuinely afraid for him. He had caused pain to Harry, and the worst part of all was that he was almost certain to do it again. He burst into tears.

Harry, who had clearly not been expecting this to happen, looked immediately apologetic.

"Draco… Draco, I'm sorry…" Draco could not find it in himself to speak. In a move as uncharacteristic as it was possible to be, he threw his arms around Harry and enveloped him a hug. Harry - somewhat bemusedly - hugged him back, frowning as his shoulder slowly grew wet with tears.

Draco stayed there, unsure of what had come over him, but giving into it all the same. It was an utterly overwhelming experience; a brutal mix of exuberant happiness over the knowledge that another cared for him, and debilitating sadness over the idea that this was - possibly - the first time it had ever happened. It was all quite tragic, thought Draco, that the universe had finally sent him a companion just when his path of self-destruction seemed wholly imminent.

Draco couldn't tell how long it was before he calmed down again, but when he did so, Harry pulled away and eyed him with caution.

"Are you okay?" He asked. Draco offered a noncommittal shrug in reply. The honest answer was no, though he didn't have the heart to say so to Harry. Harry regarded him sadly for a moment, and then said: "Draco, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with my cousin."

"I… I don't know, Harry. What if it makes it worse?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me, Draco. He won't dream of coming near you again." Though Draco had never given him the okay to leave, he began striding toward the door, fingering his wand as he did so.

"W-Wait!" Cried Draco. "Don't get yourself into trouble!" Harry only smirked and strode from the room, leaving Draco to flop back against the frilly bed and think - bitterly - about the fact that Harry had taken his razorblade.


	13. Chapter 13

Once Harry was able to detach himself from Draco; once he was able to let his true feelings on the situation rise to the surface, he found his original rage return to him with full force. Had something gone wrong, had Harry not walked into the bathroom this afternoon, and Dudley's actions could well have been murder. Torturing he, Harry, was one thing. He was used to the humiliation, to returning from a traumatizing ordeal only to be bullied by Dudley and his gang. But Draco… Draco, who was already so close to the tipping point… This was unforgivable.

He found Dudley - unsurprisingly - in the kitchen, his enormous backside turned to greet him as he walked through the kitchen door. Were it not a swinging door, Harry would have slammed it, to better emphasize his presence. He settled for clearing his throat instead. Dudley swung around.

"What do you want, scarface?"

Harry did not reply. In three, swift strides, he crossed the length of the kitchen, his face mere inches from Dudley's. From his back pocket, he produced his wand, jabbing the tip into the soft, fleshy underside of his chin.

"Draco's told me about what you did to him, Dudley." He growled. He moved his face another inch or so nearer, so he could smell the salty sweat on Dudley's skin. He lined his lips up with Dudley's ear and whispered. "I don't appreciate it." Dudley tried to shove him off, but Harry had braced himself for this very thing. He didn't budge. He jabbed the wand harder into Dudley's throat, and when he spoke, his words sounded garbled and constricted.

"You can't use m-magic!" Gasped Dudley. Sadistic fire rushing through his veins, Harry added still more pressure to the wand. Dudley could not breathe. He watched with satisfaction for several seconds as his face turned purple, and then blue. When it seemed as though he would soon lose consciousness, Harry returned the wand to his pocket. Dudley collapsed - with an enormous crash - to the kitchen floor, coughing and gasping and sputtering for breath.

Harry stooped over Dudley; he was massaging his throat, eyes streaming. He said, so lowly he was barely audible: "If you ever touch Draco ever again, or if you say or do _anything_ to upset him, we'll see just how many risks I'll take to get revenge."

Without waiting for a response, Harry turned around, and left the kitchen.


	14. Chapter 14

Draco laid sprawled out across the frilly pink bedspread, staring intently at the ceiling fan. Above all else, his time at Privet Drive seemed to be marked with a distinct carelessness that he had never been guilty of before. He had successfully navigated more than two full years of Quidditch games, living with roommates, summer lazing, and months at the manor without a single person discovering his self-injurious behavior. Dozens of periods in which he would vomit on purpose, and here they were two months in, and Harry had discovered everything.

He only had himself to blame, mused Draco, and now he was saddled with the guilty knowledge that - each time he participated in either of his depraved rituals - Harry would be injured in turn. He groaned, his sound of displeasure resonating off the walls of the small room. The problem was this: In the past, Draco's periods of purging had always been short lived, due mostly to his disbelief that it would actually work. Once he had been subjected to horrors of the summer, and his body had taken to dispelling almost anything that forced into it, he soon saw that his previous failure had been due to lack of frequency. Now that he was used vomiting regularly, he saw no harm in continuing the practice. He had confirmation that it worked. He bitterly resented that he had been careless enough for Harry to have caught him at it.

He glared down at his bleeding index finger as though it had betrayed him on purpose. If he intended to continue, then he would have to be much stealthier in his practice. He listened for the sounds of Harry shouting downstairs, but it - surprisingly - did not come. He wondered what he could possibly be saying to Dudley that would stem his cruel treatment.

Did he intend to continue? After all this, was he really going to risk his relationship with Harry just to continue to shove his finger down his throat? Somewhere in the very, very back of Draco's mind, a quiet voice chimed "yes", and he felt his insides crawl. He shook his head as though trying to shoo away a fly. He tried to convince himself that the little voice had not spoken; that it had decided on "no" instead.

His eyes flitted toward the door. Harry was sure to return any moment. He guiltily acknowledged that he would rather be alone with his thoughts. Even if Harry wasn't able to read his mind, it felt somehow wrong to entertain such ideas whilst they occupied the same space. As if he could sense what he was thinking.

And of course this little discovery meant that the cutting, too, would have to be drastically reduced, or Harry would possibly follow through on his threat. He would also have to find yet another instrument, and he doubted that Harry intended on making this easy for him.

He sighed. He had always longed to have someone who cared enough about him to notice, and now that he had gotten it, he was finding it inconvenient. He had never really had to sneak around before, and it was slightly irritating that Harry seemed to find his habits far more serious than Draco felt was warranted.

It was his own fault, he mused. He should never have been so indiscreet.

Silently, Draco's mind reeled with quick flashing images; memories of more than 3 years worth of self-harm and vomiting and clever avoidance of discovery. He thought back to what he was reasonably sure was the first time he had ever cut.

 _Professor Lupin had just finished his explanation to the class that they would today be practicing to banish a boggart. Draco stood, as usual, in the back of the throng, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Around them, students began to whisper excitedly. Began to the theorize as to what their greatest fears might be, and the different ways that they could make those objects funny. He became vaguely aware of hollow numbness, as it began to spread throughout his legs._

 _Here? He would have to do it here? In front of the entire class? That might be all well and good for Weasley, or Longbottom, or even Crabbe or Goyle, but him? A sick, heavy weight settled inside Draco's stomach. A strong nausea overcame him, and he suppressed a gag. Draco took a few deep breaths, prayed to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn't vomit, and sighed in relief when the feeling began to slowly fade into an ambient, non-threatening presence._

 _He was fairly certain of what that creature would become when he was forced to face it down. Something that - if exposed to the entire class - would ruin the reputation that he had so carefully crafted from the moment he stepped foot into the school: Lucius Malfoy. And for another matter, no matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't possibly think of a way that he might make the sight of his father amusing._

 _At the front of the class, the boggart - in an imitation of Professor Snape - suddenly donned an old woman's clothes. The class roared with laughter, and Draco tried to imagine his father dressed in a similar way. The image did not amuse him. Rather, he shuddered and squirmed, uncomfortable with even thinking of it. Feeling as though his father would somehow know that he had entertained such a disrespectful idea._

 _Draco's sense of panic heightened when he realized that whatever happened here today was certain to get back to his father. He didn't even want to think of what would happen when he returned home for the holidays. Ahead of him, the queue of students grew shorter, and he tried his best to shift himself so he would be the absolute last to go. With any luck, they would run out of time before that happened. He closed his eyes, and could practically hear the sound of the yelling in his head. His fingers shook._

 _His mind raced, flipping through scenario after scenario in a hopeless attempt to find some way to make the boggart funny. He couldn't. Hysteria built inside of him so that he hardly noticed the commotion at the front of the room. He came out of himself just long enough to see Professor Lupin dive in front of Potter, blocking his view of the boggart, which this time had materialized into a Dementor. His mind then promptly returned to his predicament._

 _Maybe the best option was to abandon his pride and confess to Professor Lupin, privately, that he couldn't participate in this exercise, and to ask him if there was some way that he could make up the assignment. "No," Draco thought bitterly. Lupin would only insist that he battle the boggart privately, away from all of his classmates. He couldn't allow Lupin to see his greatest fear. He wouldn't put it past him to go to Dumbledore and get him involved in his private affairs. Crabbe slammed, hard, into his shoulder._

" _Malfoy!" He said loudly, and Draco turned to look at him, stupidly._

" _What's going on?" Students were shoving past them in droves, filing slowly out the door. Potter stood breathlessly behind Professor Lupin._

" _Welcome back," Scoffed Goyle. "Potter freaked out again, Lupin's letting us go. Come on." Draco looked around, feeling dazed. A weightlessness enveloped him. He had escaped? He was free._

" _You two go on," Said Draco, with distance. "I'll catch up." They both shot him questioning looks, but Draco returned their stares with a cold and threatening expression, and they shrugged and walked away. Draco was the last in the room, save for Potter and Professor Lupin. He waited awkwardly until he felt that Crabbe and Goyle had gone far enough away, and then followed them through the door._

 _The first place that he stopped was the bathroom. He crossed the flagstone floor and, gripping either side of the pedestal sink, he stared himself down. The nausea, which had been subtly threatening to surface, reared back in full force and he darted in the nearest stall just in time to vomit into the toilet bowl._

 _He stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The stunned surprise he had been feeling was beginning to fade away, and in its place an unwieldy rage had begun to settle. He had never been more disgusted with himself. Not only was he unable to face down a simple boggart, his worst fear was own damn father. It was humiliating, shameful, that he should be standing in this bathroom, sick with fear over the idea of him._

 _Anger bubbled inside of him. His blood steamed, burning him as it pumped through his veins at record speed, his heart racing to keep up with the fury he was feeling toward himself. He slammed his fist, hard, into the wall of the bathroom stall. He swore._

 _He exited the stall and returned to his position in front of the mirror, taking in every detail of his disgraceful visage. Feeling suffocated, he tore his bag from his shoulder and dropped it to the floor. The flap flew open, and various objects went rolling across the bathroom floor. Swearing again, Draco bent to pick them up, throwing things inside haphazardly, breaking a bottle of ink, which soaked into everything inside. He threw the offending bottle across the room where it broke into even smaller pieces._

 _Draco sank to his knees beside the scattered contents of the bag, glaring at all of it, breathing heavily, and contemplating even further how much of a fuck up he had turned out to be. His eyes caught the glinting reflection off his potions knife, and he grabbed it, instinctively. He stared it down, his rage building dangerously. There was a flash of silver, and Draco had made an angry slash in the unmarred skin of his forearm. Blood surfaced immediately; the cut was deep._

 _Draco felt an instant rush of satisfaction. A smile playing lightly on his lips, he brought the blade down a second time and slashed again, more deliberately this time, slowing down to relish in the sensation of the blade slicing effortlessly through his skin. He watched the blood trace red lines across the surface of his arm. His breathing slowed. The anger began to melt away with the pulsing stinging on his wrist and arm. He continued to slash..._


	15. Chapter 15

Harry lay in his bed, staring gloomily into the ceiling. It had been more than a week since he discovered what Draco had been up to, and so far as he could tell, he hadn't done it again. At the very least, the injury to Draco's finger had healed, and Harry saw no signs of a new one. Nor had he (hopefully) presented the blonde-haired boy with an opportunity to escape into the restroom after meals. It was morning now, and he had awoken feeling distinctly sour and depressed. He had dreamed about Sirius.

Harry heaved a great sigh, and with tremendous effort, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled himself to his feet. He would use the loo, he decided, and then return to bed.

Yawning, he shuffled into the hallway, his mind filled with melancholy memories of the tragically short period of the time that he had spent with his godfather. He shoved the bathroom door open like he was angry with it, and glared down at the tile floor as he took care of his business, flushed, and started off toward his room. He paused momentarily as he washed his hands; there was a spoon on the bathroom counter. Shaking his head at what must have been Dudley attempting to bathe and snack the same time, he turned off the sink and stepped into the hall.

"Harry?" Harry jumped. Draco had appeared in his doorway, hair ruffled, sleep still evident in his eyes.

"D-Draco," Stammered Harry. He wasn't sure why, but he was feeling oddly guilty, as though Draco had caught him in the act of something he ought not to be doing. "Good morning." Even through his sleepy haze, Draco's expression narrowed into one of concern.

"Are you okay?" Harry looked anywhere but Draco's face as he answered.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Draco frowned, reached out a hand. Harry flinched as a long, slender finger touched him gently on the cheek.

"You're crying." Draco pulled his hand away, and to Harry's complete bewilderment, he could see that it shone with moisture.

"I-" Harry's voice broke, and the next thing he became aware of was being wrapped tightly around the shoulders, all his senses dulled by the soft, comforting scent of Draco's pajamas as he was pulled closer. He collapsed into tears which he had had no warning to expect.

"Hey, shh…" Whispered Draco. Harry felt his lips move against his ear. It sent a shudder through his body. "It's alright. Come here." Draco led Harry into the bedroom and pushed the door shut behind them. He guided him down on to the bed and then crossed to the dresser to retrieve a glass of water. Harry noticed a box opener sitting on the bedside table, but decided - for once - not to address it. He wiped the moisture from his cheeks and stared down at his knees.

Draco returned with the glass of water, and offered it to Harry.

"Thanks." Said Harry, accepting the glass and taking a sip. Draco sat down beside him on the bed.

"What's wrong?" Harry shrugged. His face felt hot. He didn't want Draco to see him this way. He wanted to seem strong, invulnerable. How was he supposed to help Draco if he himself was flying off the rails?

"I miss him." He finally managed to say. Draco didn't seem surprised. He gave a sympathetic sigh and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder.

"You don't have to deal with it alone, you know." Said Draco. Harry tossed him a guilty look, and Draco seemed to understand. "Believe it or not Harry, it actually kind of helps me to see you this way. It helps me see I'm not the only one that hurts sometimes." Harry, who had never considered this before, felt a weight lift from his stomach as he heard this. He leaned into Draco's embrace. Draco tensed up for a moment, and then relaxed into their newfound position.

"I just never want to be the reason that you're upset." Mumbed Harry, finally. When Draco answered, there was a smile in his voice.

"Trust me Harry, you won't be." Something fluttered in Harry's stomach. He was forced to recall another dream he'd had, about a week ago, involving Draco. His face flushed even deeper. He had been feeling things toward Draco that he had only ever felt about girls, and he was having a particularly hard time dealing with this realization without anyone else to talk to about it with. Sighed again, Harry sat up, rubbing his swollen eyes and smiling slightly at the sight of Draco's tousled hair.

"Did you sleep okay?" Asked Harry. Draco nodded hesitatingly, and Harry followed his eyes to the bed table, where the box cutter lay open in plain view.

"Yeah…" Draco began. There was a long a silence. "I guess…" He sighed and - avoiding eye contact - he rolled up his sleeve and allowed Harry to look at his wrist. He was unsurprised to see that there were 6 new cuts here, shallow, due to the obviously dull state of the blade. "I found it in the kitchen when I went to get some water." He said. "It just happened, I don't know." Harry frowned, sadness growing heavier in his stomach.

"Thanks for telling me." He answered quietly. He grabbed the box cutter and shoved it in his pocket. "I'm gonna keep this." Draco nodded, and there was another extended moment of silence. Outside, the sky was full of clouds, and the light filtering in through the window was gray.

"So, I was thinking…" Said Draco, squirming uncomfortably in his spot on the bed. "It looks like there's a fair or something happening, down the street from here. I-I thought maybe you'd… want to go with me?" Draco's cheeks burned pink as said this, and Harry was overtaken by another violent plunge of stomach toward his feet. He smiled.

"Yeah, Draco, sure." He glanced toward the window. "It might rain, but what's life without a little risk, right?" Draco's face broke into an enormous grin.

"Great!" He breathed, excitedly. "I've never been to a muggle fair before! I've got to take a shower. You get dressed, okay?" He yanked his towel off the hook behind the door and then disappeared into the bathroom. Harry stayed for a moment on the bed. Absently, he rubbed his hand across Draco's pillow, fought down images of other things they could be doing in this bed. Something stirred in Harry's pants and he groaned. He had to talk to someone.

Checking to be sure that Draco had gotten into the shower, Harry returned to his room. Hedwig was perched inside her open cage, snoozing into her shoulder. There was an open roll of parchment on the desk, the result of a half-hearted attempt to write a letter to Ron. He crossed the room and sat down, shaking a bottle of ink and popping out the cork. He dipped his quill, and then held the tip over the top of the parchment. Ink dropped onto the page. Harry wrote nothing.

Who exactly was he planning on writing to, anyway? He sighed. He thought about Ron and Hermione, who were still under the impression that he and Draco were barely even civil. The amount of back story he would have to give would take much more time than he had. He sat still for another minute or two and then - hesitating - he scrawled,

 _Dear Remus,_

He stopped again. Yes. Remus. It felt right somehow.

 _I hope you've had an okay summer, and that you and the others are dealing with Sirius's loss the best you can. I can't tell you how much time I've spent this summer going over and over what happened at the ministry._

Again, he stopped. He wasn't sure how to say what he wanted to bring up next.

 _As you know, Draco Malfoy's been staying here since the second week of the holiday. It's a long story but we've actually grown quite close this summer, and wanted to talk to someone about something that's been bothering me…_

Harry's hand shook, splashing spots of ink across the parchment.

 _I've been having some feelings toward Draco that I don't think are entirely friendly. I'm really confused because the only time I've ever felt like this before, it was toward Cho Chang in Ravenclaw, and she's a girl and Draco… isn't. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm worried that if I let myself keep thinking this way I'll end up hurting myself or Draco, because I don't even know if he's into blokes or if I'M into blokes for that matter, and I don't want to sabotage the good relationship that we've managed to build so far._

 _Or, what if I make a move and he goes for it, only to find out that I'm not into it? I've never had a crush on a bloke before… I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. Is it even okay that I'm feeling this way? Have I gone crazy? Do I tell him? I'm sorry to spring this on you, but you the only one I could think of that might talk to me about this without judgement. I need to know if I'm feeling this because I really am gay or I just think I am because we've been spending so much time together._

 _Any thoughts?_

 _Harry_

Harry rolled up the letter and tied to Hedwig in a single fluid motion.

"This is for Lupin." He said, before he could change his mind. Hedwig took off through the window, just in time for Draco to appear in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel. Harry choked on his next breath and broke into a coughing fit.

"You're not dressed." Said Draco. He stepped further into the room. Harry could see the full extent of his scarring for the first time.

"I, uh, I-" Draco raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Got distracted…?" Offered Draco. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. I uhm, I was sending a letter to Ron." He lied.

"Okay," said Draco. "Well I'm going to get dressed. You should too." Harry nodded and to his relief Draco left the room. He pulled on his jeans without paying much attention to what he was doing. His stomach twisted in knots with anxiety over the letter that was now en route to Remus Lupin. By sending that letter, he had admitted fully the emotions he'd been trying to supress for weeks.

He hoped that Remus would get back to him quickly.


	16. Chapter 16

As Draco entered the fairgrounds, he was completely and entirely overwhelmed by the place. Perhaps this is how it felt to be a muggleborn on their first visit to Diagon Alley. All around him were sights and sounds and smells that were unfamiliar to him; bells clanged, children screamed, the muggles attending the booths shouted through microphones that he should take a shot at whatever challenge they offered. The air tasted sweet; heavy and thick with the smell of warm sugar and fried dough. Twice, Draco nearly lost track of Harry because he was too distracted by the mechanical chaos around him. Harry caught sight of his face and smirked.

"Intrigued?" He asked. Draco didn't respond right away; he was too busy staring a gigantic metal contraption whose legs whipped around like a frenzied Acromantula. To his astonishment, muggles were climbing aboard the contraption, waiting in line to do the same.

"Huh?" He said. "Oh! Yeah… is that thing safe?" He gestured toward the machine. Harry laughed.

"That? It's just a carnival ride. It's fine. Besides you don't need to worry yourself with that. We're headed over there." Draco followed the direction of Harry's finger, and his eyes landed on the biggest, most complicated contraption of the place. It looked to Draco like a track of some kind. It rose in steep hills and sharp turns. In one place it even formed a loop.

"What in the bloody hell is that?" Draco breathed.

"It's a roller coaster," said Harry. He reached over and grabbed Draco by the wrist. "Come on!" He tugged, and Draco felt a sharp stab of pain go shooting down his forearm. He let out a yelp. Harry's eyes widened in apologetic surprise, and he loosened his grip around Draco's wrist and allowed him to pull his arm back. At the last moment, he tightened his grip, captured Draco's hand in his own, and began to drag him across the grounds.

Draco felt his cheeks growing hotter and hotter as he tripped over the uneven surface in their haste to reach the roller coaster. Surely any moment now Harry would realize what he'd done and release him. Right?

They reached the spot where the coaster stood. Draco noted that the structure seemed far higher up close. The steel beams shook precariously. Overhead, a train rattled past, stuffed to capacity with screaming muggles. Draco took a step backwards. Harry squeezed his hand and he swung around, suddenly remembering their very unusual situation. His face had never felt so hot.

"Come on, Draco." Said Harry. "You can't be afraid, can you? You've done worse on your broomstick." Draco's mouth felt dry, and he was uncomfortably aware of the sweaty nature of his palms, which he hoped to god Harry hadn't noticed.

"I-I don't know." Said Draco. Harry laughed and tugged him nearer. He still hadn't let go of Draco's hand. Draco stared at him in disbelief.

"Come on! You're the one that wanted to come to the fair and this is the best part! Try it once, Draco. If you hate it you don't ever have to do it again." Draco still wasn't sure, but he allowed Harry to pull him toward what was clearly the end of the line. It was very long.

"Why do _you_ want to do it?" Draco complained. They reached the end of the line, and Harry finally released his grasp on Draco's hand. "You're right, Harry. You can do all this on a broomstick." A muggle, overhearing this, cast a strange look toward the pair of them, and Draco lowered his voice. "Can't we just go fly?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Now now, Draco. Look who's getting cold feet about the muggle fair." The muggle strained visibly to hear better, and Harry raised his voice. "A silly little MUGGLE ride should seem like nothing to a Quidditch player. Can I help you?" He turned to address the muggle - a teenage boy - directly now.

"I - No - S-sorry." The boy flushed and turned around. Harry smirked and Draco giggled in spite of himself. He sighed.

"Alright fine, Harry. I'll try it. But if we die, I'll kill you." Harry grinned triumphantly, and another trainful of riders sped past. Draco gulped. The line moved forward a couple of paces and a few more people joined in line behind them. Draco got lost in his thoughts, in an concerted effort to keep his mind off of the foreboding mass of steel and terror ahead of him. He could still feel Harry's warmth on his hand.

 _You're reading too much into this,_ he told himself. _He only grabbed your hand because your wrist is all cut, remember?"_ Something sank inside of him. _You haven't even told him that you're gay._ It was true enough, and Draco couldn't help but feel certain that if had done, Harry would never have held his hand for that long.

Suddenly the air around them smelled less sweet, the lights less inviting. Harry must have noticed because he said,

"Are you alright?" Draco shook himself out of it. He looked at Harry and offered him a weak smile.

"Yeah I'm fine." He said. "Just nervous." Harry smiled at him sweetly.

"You'll be alright. You're with me." Draco felt his cheeks grow hot again. He didn't bother to ask how Harry's presence made the machine any less dangerous. The front of the line drew ever nearer. Draco's stomach fluttered like pixie colony, and Harry continued to smirk amusedly at his trepidation. "It's just like flying," He would say, every time the two happened to make eye contact.

A brightly colored train car came screeching to a halt in front of them. Dishevelled muggles staggered off, and Draco wondered if he was going to be sick.

The gates sprang open. Draco hesitated, but clamored behind Harry into the seat nearest to where they got on. His brain flew into a panic as a fair attendant clicked a harness across his shoulders, trapping him inside. There was no backing out now.

"Harry…" He squeaked. He felt a hand close around his own.

There was an ominous clicking sound, the train began to climb jerkily toward the top of the hill. Images of snapping chains and catastrophe filled his mind. This was nothing like a broomstick. He could _control_ a broomstick. The train had nearly reached the summit of the hill. "Harry," He yelled across the rattle of metal, "Are you sure this is -" They began their decent.

Draco heard a scream leave his body that could not have possibly been his own. His butt left the seat. His head rattled violently against the harness. He heard Harry's whoops of enjoyment beside him as his own stomach climbed out through his throat and disappeared.

Then, just as suddenly, he was thrown back down into the plastic seat; his body suddenly seemed to weigh twice as much as it had before. He was thrown sideways into a hairpin curve and then they were clicking and clacking up another hill. Draco couldn't decide if he was terrified or if he was having the time of his life.

"Here it comes!" Shouted Harry beside him. Ahead of them - approaching rapidly, the track extended straight up into the air. The loop. Draco held the the thin metal handles attached to the harness so tightly that he didn't think he could release them if he tried. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. It was coming.

He was pushed forcefully against his seat, his head and eyes pressurized like he was underwater, he screamed, and before he knew it they were right side up again. He registered a noise coming from his throat that sounded like hysterical laughter. The train went around another bend, slowed, and stopped.

Draco sat gasping for air as Harry rolled with laughter beside him. The harness clicked open and Draco stumbled out of the train and onto the platform behind Harry. Harry grinned at him.

"Well?" He inquired. Draco coughed a few times and finally found his voice.

"That was craziest thing I have ever done in my life." He said.

After the roller coaster, Draco had far less hesitation on the other rides. There had been a Tilt-a-Whirl, some spinning tea cups, and a top-looking thing that spun so hard it sucked you up against the wall. Draco was beginning to get the feeling that half of muggle entertainment simply involved spinning. He felt sorry for anyone who was susceptible to motion sickness. They rode the bumper cars and the "haunted house," which was really just a small car on a track that drove through strobe lights and cheap plastic decorations, and now, as he and Harry were drawing higher and higher on the Ferris wheel, the sun was just beginning to set.

"So what do you think?" Said Harry's voice from beside him. Draco almost hadn't heard him over the warm presence of another leg touching his. Below them, the lights were beginning to go on, transforming the fairgrounds into a flashing kaleidoscope of glass and color.

"It's beautiful," said Draco, nearly to himself. He turned to Harry. "Thanks for coming with me." He mumbled. Harry beamed.

"Thanks for inviting me! I hate coming here alone. They make you ride with strangers." Draco had the ludacris image pop into his head of Harry having a romantic conversation with an old muggle woman on the Ferris wheel. "I'm hungry." Sighed Harry, just as the wheel reached the top for the first time. "I just realized we hadn't eaten all day." Draco's stomach vanished.

"Oh…" he said, in an attempt to sound casual. "Yeah, sure."

 _You're alright, Draco,_ he chided himself, _grow the hell up and enjoy the day you've had._

"We'll get some food when this ride's done. Fair food is the best." Draco merely nodded, upset with himself. He and Harry had probably had the best day either of them had had in a very long time. He was in absolutely no position to complain or whine or feel upset or sad or anxious or any of the things that he was suddenly feeling.

 _Stop this. Just stop. You're not going to do this. You're going to enjoy the rest of your night._

"Are you alright?" Harry's voice cut into his thoughts, and he welcomed it.

"Yes," lied Draco. "I'm just thinking."

"What about?" Asked Harry. It was clearly his imagination, but his tone sounded almost - dare he say it - flirtatious?

"You." Said Draco, before he could stop himself. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Oh?" Said Harry, a mischievous smile stretching across his lips. "About how you're going to push me out of this car right now?" Draco's eyes widened in shock.

"No!" He said quickly. "Don't even say that!" Harry fell into laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Draco flushed even harder. "No for real though," said Harry after a moment, what are you thinking about?" Draco didn't answer right away. He studied Harry's face, and the way the light from the sun and from the grounds below reflected in halo behind him. He could see his own ugly face reflected in Harry's glasses. He felt a rush of affection and then sadness. He was wasting his time.

"Just how different you are than I thought you were." Draco finally settled on saying. He had been an inch away from admitting he was gay. Harry smiled a crooked smile.

"You're quite different yourself, you know." He replied, softly. For a moment their eyes met. Harry neck made the slightest movement, his lips the slightest twitch. Draco imagined kissing him. And then the wheel came slamming to a halt and the car went swinging. The moment was lost.

"Try it, Draco, you won't regret it." They were back aground now. Draco was sitting on a bench beside Harry, who was holding a paper plate that was nearly invisible beneath a kind of doughnut covered with a thick dusting of powdered sugar. Draco thought very much that he would regret it, but could never say so. Harry ripped off a corner of the doughnut and shoved it into Draco's hand. He felt his fingers drip with grease.

"Shouldn't we eat actual dinner first?" asked Draco desperately. Harry waved him off. "Oh whatever, Draco. It's the fair. Live a little." Draco looked around. He left his body for a moment, and watched himself sit there on that bench, his hand dripping with grease and sugar, mouth open to gorge on fat that he had no business eating, and was disgusted. Harry looked on expectedly.

He shoved the doughnut into his mouth. He watched himself chew and saw oil drip from his chin like a glutton while in other places in the world there were children who went to bed hungry. He didn't deserve this - he had done nothing to earn his place here at this fair while others suffered…

"How is it?" He had almost forgotten that Harry was there. He snapped his up guiltily.

"It's delicious," he answered honestly, hating himself. There was more food in his mouth before he was able to process what he was doing.

"I told you!" Said Harry excitedly. "You should listen to me more." Draco nodded vaguely, took another bite. He sunk further into his head. Behind them, a bell clanged loudly to announce that some muggle or other had be strong enough to win the prize. "You need a souvenir. Come on." Draco followed Harry blindly down the rows of flashing lights.

 _Stop!_ Screamed Draco at himself. _Don't ruin this!_

They stopped at a both with a dozen milk bottles glued a wooden board. Behind the carnie, gigantic stuffed dragons - of bright and unrealistic colors - lined the wall.

"Alright, Draco." Said Harry, handing some money to man in the booth. "If I win, you have to promise you'll sleep with it." He winked, and Draco choked on the doughnut.

Harry tossed the first ring, and it bounced off the surface of the bottles and when clamoring to the ground. Harry growled in frustration, and tossed the second ring, which settled in around a bottle in the first row.

"Yes!" He exclaimed. He tossed another ring, missed. The final two settled around rings in the second the third rows respectively, and Harry cheered. Draco cheered too, assuming this must mean that he'd won. "I want the green one," said Harry, pointing out a dragon on the wall. The man got it down and Harry made a show of presenting the toy to Draco.

"Draco," He said, getting down on one knee. "Will you do me the honor of thinking of me while you sleep tonight?" He shoved the dragon into his arms.

"I, uh, sure," stammered Draco. Passers by were staring. Harry stood up, bowed deeply, and the two began making the trek toward the exit. Harry's hand brushed his, and Draco's finger twitched. He hoped the dim light of the sunset would hide the flush of his cheeks.

This had been the best day he had ever had, and he would hard pressed to find a way to express this adequately to Harry. Still, he frowned.

As they walked toward home, Draco could taste the doughnut on his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

It was only two days between the time that Harry had sent the letter to Lupin and when Hedwig arrived at his window with a reply, but as far as Harry was concerned it might as well have been an eternity. Since the carnival, Harry had been more confused than ever; He had been sure there was a moment whilst they were on the Ferris wheel where they were about to kiss, and he had spent the previous two days agonizing over what might have happened if they had.

Harry untied the letter from Hedwig with such haste that the bird stumbled, and hooted irritably as she hopped furiously on the other leg to compensate. Harry mumbled an apology, distractedly, shaking the letter open and turning to sit on his bed.

 _Harry,_

 _It's comforting to hear from you; we have all been wondering whether you were doing alright in the present circumstances. I am holding up as well as can be expected. I am grateful to have connected with Nymphadora in the shadow of this tragedy, and she has been a great support to me during this time. I hope that you are staying in correspondence with Ron and Hermione - it has never been more important to keep your friends close._

Harry scanned through the letter impatiently, and found what he was looking for three paragraphs in.

 _Now, in regards to your last letter; I feel completely honored that you would trust me enough to write to me about this. First and foremost, Harry, I want you to understand that what you're feeling is absolutely natural and is nothing for you to ashamed of. I also want to you know that just because you've had these feelings about a girl does not mean that you cannot have them for a boy too, or that you won't ever feel them for another a girl. Human attraction is a great and varied thing; much like wands, we do not choose the people that we love._

Harry felt a great rush of affection for Lupin with this, and some of the weight and worry he had been experiencing evaporated from within him.

 _I do not know the nature of the relationship you have formed with Draco. However, as the two of you share the experience of having your lives torn utterly apart by Voldemort, I am unsurprised that you have formed a bond, and I think it will be wonderful for the both of you, regardless of if you choose to act on your newfound feelings._

 _That said, your letter mentioned that you were unsure of how it was supposed to feel when you like another boy. I myself have never felt such, but I doubt very much it would be any different than it feels for a girl. Try not to stress yourself by overthinking, Harry. It feels like a crush, then it probably is one. You have spent far more time with Ron than you have with Draco, and you have never confused yourself into believing you have a crush on_ _him_ _, have you?_

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. This was a fair point.

 _As for Draco, the only way you can find out whether he feels the same is to risk it, I'm afraid. If my suspicions are correct, he would be nothing but accepting of you, were you to decide to at least tell him how you feel, or even that you might be gay (though I believe "bisexual" is the more appropriate term in this case, if we are to discuss semantics). If you feel that your friendship is strong enough to survive a brief period awkwardness, were he not to feel the same, then my suggestion would be to open the discussion and see where it goes from there. Or else, as your father might have advised - go over the top and woo him until he forgets gender as a factor._

Harry felt an odd pang at the mention of his father, and the goading confidence he had displayed when he had seen him the pensive. It seemed an accurate enough hypothesis as to what James may have said, if he were here to counsel Harry. He continued reading.

 _I hope this has been of some help to you, Harry. It is tragic to me that you could not have discussed this matter with Sirius. Between you and I, I have always suspected that Sirius may have had an interest in James. It could have worked miracles for him to have something like a son to confide this in, and perhaps he could have offered more insight than myself. As it stands, I am more than happy to talk with you on this, and I hope that you will continue to write me as things develop._

 _You are not alone, Harry. Please do not ever forget that._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Remus Lupin_

 _P.S. - I urge that you tell Ron and Hermione about this. I know you are worried they won't accept you, but you needn't be. I promise._

Harry read through the letter twice; the bits about Sirius four or five times. Sirius had been interested in James? Really? Harry racked his brains for any mention of a girlfriend or crush from Sirius, and was startled to realize that he could not think of one. He felt a stab of sadness for his godfather.

He sighed. He knew that Lupin was right. He would need to tell Ron and Hermione, and if he did want anything to happen between him and Draco, he would have to do something about it. There were only a few weeks left until the end of summer, he reasoned. Maybe if he waited until he saw them on the train…

But he knew that wasn't right. From the moment he and Draco were seen anywhere near each other, the entire school would be abuzz. Ron and Hermione wouldn't appreciate being the last people to know. An unpleasant voice awoke in the back of Harry's head. It reminded him that maybe Draco wouldn't even want anything to do with him once they returned to school. After all, Harry had suggested that their truce was only temporary…

His insides crawling with anxiety, Harry realized that before he could entertain any further thought about his feelings for Draco, he first needed to know if Draco even intended on keeping their relationship any longer than the length of the summer. He wasn't an easy person to be friends with. He knew that. Anyone seen spending time around Harry The Chosen One Potter was almost constantly under scrutiny, and Draco seemed so fragile…

Perhaps it was selfish of him, Harry, to even suggest they remain friends at Hogwarts.

Harry groaned in distress. It did no good to torture himself; he would have to talk to Draco. Harry placed the letter on his desk and walked down the hall, stopping outside of Draco's room and freezing for a solid minute. _Come on, Harry._ He thought to himself. _You're being stupid._

He knocked. There was no answer. Was he still asleep? He knocked again, and turned the knob, poking his head through the doorway.

"Draco?" His eyes scanned the room, and found it to be empty. The stuffed Dragon from the fair sat squarely in the middle of Draco's pillow. Harry stared dumbly for a moment. It took him longer than it should to process that he must have gone downstairs.

He found Draco in the living room, sitting on the couch and staring into the television screen, which was switched off.

"Draco?" Draco jumped. His head swung around to see Harry standing in the door to the hall, and his face flooded with relief.

"Harry!" He said. "I thought you were Dudley. Thought I was about to get my ass kicked." Harry raised a confused brow and said,

"What are you doing down here in the first place?"

"Watching TV," said Draco, brightly.

"Er…" Said Harry. Draco flushed.

"Well, I was going to watch TV," He continued. "But then I got scared that if I did then Dudley would hear it and come downstairs. So I… I just sat here." He finished, lamely. Harry smiled, finding Draco's fear somehow adorable, and plopped down beside him on the couch. He made dramatically for the remote control and made a show of turning on the television.

"Screw Dudley," He said. "There are at least 3 other televisions in this house that he can use, and if he wants to mess with you, he'll have to go through me." Draco's cheeks tinged red as he said this, and Harry welcomed the distraction offered to him by the TV. He spent the next 20 minutes contemplating his next move, reacting robotically to moments throughout the cartoon that he had turned on. Eventually he could put it off no further. He hit the mute button on the remote, and Draco turned to look at him.

"What's up, Harry?" He asked. Harry sighed.

"Look, Draco. We need to talk." Draco's face turned instantly alarmed.

"I haven't done anything!" he said, quickly. Harry's eyes narrowed, and then he said,

"What? No, Draco. It's not that. I… It's about us. The future." He felt his cheeks flush, and Draco's face looked still more alarmed.

"You're leaving me, aren't you?" He said, miserably. Then he seemed to realize how this sounded, for he continued, "I mean. When we go back to school. You're done with me." Harry was thrown by the sudden look of devastation in Draco's eyes, and felt his stomach plunge toward the region of his feet.

"No, Draco!" He said quickly. "I'm not saying that. I'm asking if you are." It took a moment for Draco to process this.

"You… you think _I'm_ ditching _you_?" He said the words as though they were uttered in another language that he barely understood.

"Yes!" Said Harry, with exasperation. "I'm probably the most talked about person at our school, Draco. If you're seen with me they'll never leave you alone. How could you want that?" Draco eyebrows furrowed confusedly.

"Well… of course I don't want the limelight, Harry, but neither do you. Besides, I'm fucked either way - I forsook the Dark Lord in front of the fathers of half my roommates. At least with you I'm some kind of rebel." Harry didn't respond right away.

"You'll… you'll be okay? Even with all the gossip?" Draco smiled at him sadly.

"I'm not really okay now, Harry. What difference does it make if a few more people have shit to say?" He was quiet for a moment and then added, "and then I'll have you." He had said it so quietly that Harry nearly missed it. He longed, hard, to know what exactly Draco meant by "having him."

"So… so you want to stay friends?" Said Harry, finally. "When we go back to school?" Draco nodded, timidly.

"That… that's what I wanted, yeah… if you want to…" Harry felt his face break out into a grin.

"That's what I want, too," he breathed. Harry saw the tension release from Draco's features, and he smiled.

"Okay, then." He said. "Good talk, Harry." He looked around the room. "Why hasn't he come down yet?" He asked, and Harry knew that he was talking about Dudley.

"Oh!" Answered Harry, just remembering. "I think he spent a night at his friend's last night! We have the house to ourselves. Well, at least until Aunt Petunia gets back from the shops." He stood up, triumphantly.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, walking into the kitchen.

"No," he heard Draco call back. "I ate a bowl of cereal this morning." Harry glanced at the sink, and saw that there was, indeed, an empty bowl and spoon soaking in the water there. He nodded, confidently, pleased that Draco was eating again. He made himself a bagel and returned the living room.

He set the plate on the coffee table and walked into the bathroom down the hall. His eyes were drawn immediately to another spoon, sitting this time on top of the toilet tank. He stared at it as he peed, and when he returned from the restroom, it was with the spoon in hand.

"What's that?" Asked Draco. Harry held it up.

"This is the second spoon I've found in a bathroom in less than a week. I found one upstairs the other day." Draco squinted at the spoon in apparent confusion. "I think Dudley might be sleepwalking," continued Harry. "But he didn't sleep here last night so I'm not sure. Was it down here this morning?" Draco shrugged.

"Could of been," he answered, he was staring intently at the muted TV. "I haven't gone in there today." Harry frowned. Giving up and resolving to goad Dudley about it later, he put it in the kitchen sink and returned to the couch and his bagal. He turned to Draco.

"So what do you want to do?" He asked between bites. "We're all _alone_ ," he winked. Draco giggled, slightly nervously.

"I don't know," he stammered. "W-we could watch a movie," he suggested. _We could start with a movie,_ thought Harry. _Just say it!_

"Sure, okay," he said instead. _You wimp._ Draco picked up the remote and began to flip through channels. Harry took this distraction as an opportunity to pick up on the of the couch cushions and lob him over the head with it. The remote went flying out of Draco's hand and, grinning, he grabbed another cushion and went on the immediate offense.

The pillow fight quickly became a wrestling match, and before Harry knew it, Draco was on the floor and Harry was on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his weight.

"Call uncle!" Harry shouted. Draco squirmed and squealed beneath him.

"Never!" Draco called. Harry poked him in the ribs. Draco screeched.

"Call uncle!" He said again. Draco flailed about violently beneath him, trying to free himself. In the scuffle, the sleeve of his hoodie was yanked up. Harry froze, instantly. He scampered off of Draco's chest.

"Draco!" He said, alarmed. Draco hadn't realized what had happened. He said up, frantically, his eyes scanning the room around them.

"What? What happened?" He asked.

"Your arm," said Harry, impatiently, and he grabbed Draco's hand and yanked his arm over to his face. There were at least 10 new slashes there, and they were deep.

"Oh, that…" Said Draco, with a nervous laugh. "I was gonna tell you later." As if to make a point, he unzipped the hoodie and pulled it off, revealing a blue T-Shirt beneath. Harry could see another group of cuts in a cluster further up on his arm. Draco tossed to the hoodie onto the couch and said, in a would-be casual voice, "I was getting hot anyway. Let's go." He assumed position, waiting for Harry to tackle him again. Harry didn't move.

"What did you use to do that, Draco?" Draco scowled.

"Does it really matter?" He asked, imploringly. "Come on, we were having fun." Harry ignored this.

"Of course it matters, Draco!" He exclaimed. "You're hurting yourself! You've got to stop this!" Draco threw his hands up in frustration.

"Why?!" He snapped loudly. "They're my arms, aren't they?! Why's it got to be such a big a deal? Huh? Why can't we can't just have a nice day together?" Harry was taken aback.

"Draco…" he said quietly, feeling suddenly emotional, "you promised -"

"I promised I wouldn't try to kill myself." Said Draco, flatly, cutting him off. "None of these are even close to life-threatening." Harry opened his mouth, but Draco continued, saying, "and I promised not to keep it a secret when I did cut, and I'm not." He held out his uncovered arms in emphasis. "I appreciate your concern, Harry, I do." Said Draco desperately. "But it's really not that big a deal!" Harry felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"Draco…" He started again. "It's a big deal because it means that you're still hurting. It means you're still turning that hurt on yourself which - at least to me - seems a lot like there's a chance it might _get_ more serious at any time." Draco said nothing, so he kept going. "You have me now, Draco... " he said, his voice quavering just a little, "you can come to me when something's wrong, instead of cutting yourself and then refusing to talk to me about it later. Tell me what's the matter. Please."

"It's not that simple!" Shouted Draco, standing, suddenly. "Look, they're my arms. And we were having a good morning until you insisted on shoving it in my face!" His blue eyes were beginning to brim with tears. "I don't just sit down and think 'I'm going to cut myself today!' It just happens, Harry! And if it makes me feel better then I don't see why it's such a problem." Harry stood up too, angry.

"If you don't plan on doing it then how come you keep hoarding sharp objects in your room?" He shouted. "How come you won't tell me why you're doing it?" The tears spilled over, trailing Draco's cheeks.

"Because sometimes I don't even know why, Harry!" He yelled, his voice become thicker. "And sometimes it's something I can't tell you." Harry had the wind kicked out of him. What could there possibly be that Draco couldn't tell him? Draco sniffed and wiped impatiently at his cheeks. "Look Harry, I promise I'll tell you if I think I'm gonna try to kill myself, okay? You don't need to worry about me." Harry doubted this.

"Of course I'm going to worry, Draco…" He said, softly. "I don't like this…" Draco glared at him.

"Then turn me over to the loony bin like you've been threatening all summer," he snapped. "Then you won't have to deal with me anymore." Harry said nothing. He would never admit it, but he didn't think that he could follow through on his threat.

"Draco, I'm not going to-" Draco cut him off.

"Then next time just let me have my fun." He begged. "We didn't have to talk about this right now, Harry. We could have talked about it later. I was having fun with you! And I don't get to enjoy myself very often…" He said the last part so quietly that Harry barely heard him. "You ruined it." Guilt fell atop of Harry like a ton of bricks.

"I… I'm sorry…" He started to say. Draco sniffed again, wiped away the last of the moisture of his face and said, sadly,

"It's okay Harry, I know you didn't mean to. I'm going to take a shower." Draco turned and walked away before Harry had the chance to reply.

A deep feeling of dread settled inside of him. Was he the reason that Draco was still cutting? Had he done something to lose his trust? He sat down on the couch and glared at the carpet. What was he supposed to do now?


	18. Chapter 18

Draco laid on his stomach, his journal open in front of him on the frilly bed. A glass of water stood on the nightstand, and beside it sat a spoon. Draco grimaced, and sipped gingerly at the water in an attempt to rid himself of the sour taste lingering in his mouth. His usually immaculate blonde hair was a disheveled mess atop his paler-than-normal face, blotched with red and swollen with signs of recent crying. The glass clinked as Draco set it back on top of the ceramic coaster, and resumed writing.

 _We return to school in just over a fortnight... I know that Harry promised he wanted to stay friends when we got back, but I can't help but be afraid that he'll forget all about me as soon as he sees Granger and Weasley again. And even if not, what I am supposed to say to them, anyway? "Hi, everybody, I'm in reality just a wimpy little bitch that's two inches from slicing my arteries open and I have a huge faggy crush on Harry fucking Potter"? No matter what Harry says, I know there's no way they're going to be comfortable with me hanging around him after everything I've done. I can't blame them…_

Draco stopped writing for a moment and took a long, shaky breath, trying to alleviate some of the panic that was beginning to rise up in his throat like bile.

 _I know it's pathetic, but I don't know what I'm going to do if we go back to Hogwarts and Harry and I stop seeing each other. God knows the Slytherins are going to be just awful and… I hate to admit it, but I don't think I can really handle much right now…_

Draco swallowed, hard. Dimly, he noticed that the pen shook slightly in his hand.

 _It really would be so much easier to just end it before we go back to school. I could die after the best summer of my life and never have to face anyone else ever again… But I wouldn't want to do that Harry, after everything he's been doing to try to keep me alive. Even if I don't deserve it. Even after I yelled at him._

He stared for a moment at his left wrist, acknowledging the fresh carnage there.

 _I'm still cutting, you know. Even after I saw how much he hates it. I guess the least I could do is try not to off myself. Who knows? Maybe he wasn't lying after all, and we really will stay friends at school._

Draco tried to imagine this, to reassure himself that when they returned to Hogwarts, nothing had to change. Harry would still be there to make him laugh when he was sad. To help him see the good in things when he could see nothing but darkness ahead. He forced a smile onto his face, but it melted a moment later. In his mind, a scene played of himself, curled up inside his four-poster, at midnight, with a bleeding wrist and a tearful face, an entire castle between himself and the only person who might be able to make him feel better. What was he supposed to do? Walk through the castle in the middle of the night so Filch could catch him and put him in detention. Say - by some miracle - he made it to the Gryffindor common room undetected. What then?

 _This is so stupid! Before this summer I never cried. I never needed anyone. When I thought about ending it I kept it to my damn self. There's no reason that this school year should be any different, and yet when I think about September 1st I want to throw up and run away. How selfish is that? Harry hates it here. He should hate it here. I have no right to wish he were stuck here, just so I can have him to myself. I let myself get too attached, and now the summer is going to have to end. I don't know if I can go back to how I was before. I can't even get through a day without bursting into tears. What if I lose it in front of someone like Crabbe or Goyle, or worse yet, Snape?_

 _And I had to go and fall in love with him, on top of all of this. I can't even come out of the closet, and I'm lusting after the boy who fucking lived. Who am I kidding? He'll never think of me in that way. How could anyone think of me that way? I'm disgusting…_

Draco was overcome by a sensation that he could only compare to falling down a long, dark tunnel. The lights around him seemed to dim. He felt heavier on the bed. The words danced around on the pages in front of him, and he suddenly felt too exhausted to even finish the entry. He flipped the journal closed and slid it beneath the pillow. He closed his eyes, and forced down a scream.

"You're okay." He whispered to himself. "You're okay." He tried to believe it. He knew that he should probably tell Harry that he wasn't doing well, but it seemed that the energy required to get the words out was far too out of reach. It would pass. The exhaustion. The dizziness. It always did. Even still, he felt a rush of fear move through him. "You're okay." He repeated.

He wasn't out of control, he reasoned. He made the decisions here. Anything he was doing he could stop at any time. He just didn't want to, that was all… They were simply methods of keeping him in control. It wasn't his fault of Harry couldn't understand that. He didn't need to know _everything._ If he did, he was sure to overreact…

The next thing Draco knew, the room really _was_ dark. It took him a moment to realize that he must have fallen asleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, groggily. He stood, and he had to grab the bedpost to balance himself. The digital clock on the dresser told him that it was half past eight. He tottered across the bedroom and pulled open the door, squinting at the light in the hallway.

He walked trance-like down the hall to Harry's room, and knocked so softly that he doubted Harry could have heard it. Nonetheless, the door popped open a moment later and Harry face peered through. As soon as he saw Draco, he face split into a smile.

"Hey there, sleepy head! Come on it." Draco did so, silently. He sat down in Harry's desk chair and stared ponderously as Hedwig as she snoozed inside her cage. "Is everything alright?" Asked Harry, who took a seat on the edge of his bed. Draco shrugged. A familiar delima was playing in his head. Should he tell him? What would happen if he did?

"Have you been crying?" Tried Harry, with a tone of patience. Draco nodded vaguely and Harry frowned. "Did you…?" He didn't finish, but Draco understood. He nodded again, hesitantly, and Harry closed his eyes and drew a breath. He let it out slowly.

"Draco…"

"Do you love the Granger girl?" He had blurted it out without meaning to. His cheeks flushed hotly. Harry stared at him, bemusedly, and finally said.

"How do you mean, Draco?" Draco shrugged again and mumbled:

"You know, as like, a girlfriend or something." He wanted to sink into the floor from embarrassment.

"Oh!" Answered Harry, looking surprised. "Well, no, not really. She's more of a sister to me. Why?"

"No reason." Said Draco, quietly. Harry frowned.

"Draco, what's the matter?" Draco had no idea how to answer.

"Nothing…" Why was this so hard? "I'm just worried about going back to school, is all." Harry smiled, warmly.

"Draco, it's going to be fine. I told you. The rest of the school can give a flying fuck for all I care. I'm not going to abandon you." Draco nodded, and tried to look comforted.

"What have you told them?" He asked, after some silence. "Granger and Weasley."

"About you?" Said Harry. Draco noticed that he shifted awkwardly as he said this. "Just that you and I have gotten to know each other pretty well, and that you aren't the person they think you are."

"What did they say? Are they okay with it?" Harry shrugged.

"As okay with it as you'd expect, I guess. They're going to have to get to know you for themselves before they'll be completely okay with it, but that's just because they're paranoid. I'm sure as soon as they get a chance to know you everything will be fine." A wave of anxiety passed through Draco with these words.

"Do I have to tell them… everything?" He asked, imploringly. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was with advertising his scars or - God forbid he got caught again - his methods of weight management. Harry was smiling at him again in his usually patient sort away.

"Only what you're comfortable sharing, Draco. That's all." Draco nodded, silently. He stared out the window down upon the street below.

"Y-you promise you won't tell them anything I don't want you to?" Asked Draco, finally. Harry looked him over, somewhat bemusedly.

"Of course I promise, Draco. What is this about?"

"N-nothing." Draco stammered. He went quiet again. He wanted one person - just one - to know him completely. That way if he decided that couldn't face school again, he could end it knowing that he wasn't a complete stranger to someone. That would be nice, thought Draco. Even if Harry hated him because of it. His stomach tightened. It certainly would make his decision easier…

He stared across the room at Harry, who was bent over at the moment, retying a shoelace that hadn't been untied. Draco could tell that he was trying to give him time to think, and he appreciated it. He hadn't been able to sleep. He had to say something. Draco took a long, deep breath.

"Harry…" Said Draco. Harry looked him. "I'm gay."


	19. Chapter 19

Harry's mind was spinning faster than a malfunctioning Sneakoscope. Gay? Draco was gay? But… that could mean…

"H-Harry…" Stammared Draco, who was staring at him, looking terrified. "Could you say something please?" Harry shook himself out of it, and arranged his face into an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, Draco!" He said quickly. "I got lost in thought." Draco eyed him suspiciously. "Of course it doesn't bother me that you're gay," continued Harry. "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me." Though he couldn't see it, he knew that his face had flushed scarlet.

"What could you have been thinking of that made you zone out of a conversation like this?" There was a bite of accusation in Draco's tone, and Harry felt his cheeks flush even deeper. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" Pressed Draco. "You promised you wouldn't tell…" Harry could see that he was beginning to spiral, and he felt a surge of panic.

"I'm not going to tell!" Said Harry, a little louder than he'd meant to. "I - I just…" He stopped, and forced onward when Draco looked like he was about to cry. "I've just… had my own thoughts about sexualilty lately." He mumbled. To Harry's surprised confusion, Draco's face morphed into a display of horror.

"You don't support homosexuality, do you?" He said in a tone of dawning greif. "Y-you don't -" Harry didn't let him finish.

"Draco, stop!" He snapped, and his voice was harsher than he intended. "That's not what I mean I all!" Draco stared at him. When he didn't say anything, Harry drew a deep breath and continued, "I mean that in the last few months _I've_ had my own thoughts that you could consider, well… gay." It took a moment for Draco to process Harry's words. He could see understanding begin to paint his face.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, relief causing his entire body to visibly relax. "You're saying that you're gay, too?" Excitement tinged his voice, causing Harry to shift uncomfortably.

"Well, I don't think I could say that, exactly…" He mumbled. "I - I like girls, too. That why I haven't said anything. I - I don't know if I'm wrong…" He finished lamely.

"But you've had romantic thoughts about another bloke?" Harry nodded, feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life.

"I guess so," he said, shrugging. "Just in general…" He had to be careful, or Draco would realize that he was talking about him.

"You can't be 'wrong' about your sexuality, Harry," said Draco, and Harry noted that this might be the most confidence that he had seen from Draco since the summer began. "Just because you like one doesn't mean you can't like the other. _I_ don't like girls at all, though. But that's just me." Harry smirked, happy for an opening to divert the subject of the conversation and said:

"What? Not even Pansy Parkinson?" Draco mimicked a gag. He shook his head, violently.

"God, no. Haven't you seen her face? Come on, Harry, you'd recognize attractiveness in girls better than I would." Harry shrugged. "That hasn't stopped her from trying though." Added Draco. He appeared to get lost in thought for a moment. He shuddered. "You really scared me for a moment." He said after a while. "I thought I was about to lose everything we have." Harry smiled at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Even if _was_ completely straight, I wouldn't even consider defriending you just for being gay." A ghost of a smile played on Draco's lips.

"So… is it Weasley, then?" Draco asked, and Harry nearly choked.

"What? No!" He answered, way too quickly. "Ron's like a brother to me. The entire family is." Draco nodded, but didn't say another word. Harry knew that he was running a list in his head of every boy that Harry knew. He wondered, uncomfortably, if he would ever think to ask if it was him…

The start of the school year drew closer. Despite Lupin's advice, Harry had been so far unable to gather up the courage necessary to tell Draco how he felt. He couldn't. There was just too much at stake. The past 2 months had - oddly enough - been the best summer that he had ever experienced. He and Draco had formed a bond like he'd never had before, and if there was even the slightest possibility that telling him would make things awkward between them, than it wasn't worth it. He just couldn't risk losing everything they had formed.

Regardless of what he said to Draco, Harry was nervous about the return to school. This was becoming compounded by the fact - as September grew nearer - Draco seemed to be growing more and more distant. Harry had begun negotiating with the blonde-haired boy just to get him out of his bedroom on most days, and - despite Harry forcing him to eat - he still seemed to be losing weight. Twice in the past two weeks, Draco had come into Harry's room, crying, in the middle of the night; dark circles hung beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. He was still cutting, badly, and Harry was beginning to second guess his decision to keep this behavior a secret. Every time that Harry tried to bring this up with him, he grew hotheaded and defensive.

At present, Harry was seated at his desk. Draco was asleep for the time being, though there was no telling for how long. A scroll of parchment lay open in front of Harry, and he was busy scratching out a letter to Ron and Hermione. It was one he'd been putting off writing for quite some time.

 _Ron and Hermione,_

 _I know that I haven't kept you guys up on what's been going on here. It's been one of the strangest summers I've ever had, but it hasn't been a bad one._

He stopped, took a deep breath, and continued.

 _I haven't been completely truthful with you. In my past letters, I've told you that Malfoy was tolerable and that's we've managed to coexist. The fact is that we've grown very close. I haven't wanted to tell you because of the way he's always treated you guys. I knew that you wouldn't approve. Now the school year is coming up, and I want to stay friends with Draco when we return. I hope that you will give him a chance; I meant it when I told you that he isn't at all what we thought. We actually have a lot in common and, well, I think because Voldemort destroyed his life too, we can really see eye to eye. It's not going to be easy for him when we get back. The Slytherins are going to make his life miserable as soon as they find out that he rejected Voldemort and spent the summer living with me in a muggle household. I'm going to do my best to be there for him, but it would be a real help if he didn't have you guys actively trying to split us apart. He's really worried that when we get back to Hogwarts I'm going to go back to hating him and ignoring him again, and I'm trying to get him to believe me when I say that won't happen._

 _Please don't think I'm crazy. So much has happened this summer that I don't know how to put it all into a letter. I promise that I will explain everything when we get back to school. But I didn't want you to be surprised on the first when we meet at the platform and I'm standing there with Draco. I already invited him to sit with us on the train and I don't want an argument from either of you. Especially you, Ron. If he insults your family you have my full permission to punch him on the nose, but I can tell you pretty strongly that you don't need to worry about it._

 _Anyway, I have some other kind of big news for you, but I'm going to wait until I see you in person to tell you. I hope the rest of your summer was good, and we'll talk soon._

 _Harry_

Harry read through the letter again and frowned at the way it rambled. It would have to do. He rolled up the parchment and tied it to Hedwig's leg.

"Take this to Ron's for me," he told her. She gave a soft hoot, nipped his finger affectionately, and then took off silently through the open window. Harry stared after her into the night. He hoped against hope that they would understand.

Down the hall he heard a thud. Harry jumped, startled, and when he heard no further sounds, he stood from his chair and went to investigate.

Dudley was in his bedroom playing video games. When Harry's head appeared in the doorway, he looked up, his watery blue eyes narrowing with dislike.

"What do you want, scarface?" He snapped. Harry shook his head.

"Nothing, nevermind." He backed out and continued down the hall, pushing open Draco's bedroom door, finding it empty. "Draco?" he called. He frowned. The bathroom door was locked. He rapped on it.

"Draco?" He tried again. There was no answer. Harry tried the handle and it opened. He pushed his head into the room, and what he found there nearly stopped his heart:

Draco was on the floor.

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I am horrible at self-motivation, so your reviews are what keeps me going! Feel free to let me know what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

Draco sat beside Harry on the sofa, his eyes fixated on the television set. He wasn't watching it. Something squirmed uneasily in his stomach, and he took a long, deep breath in an attempt to settle himself. He felt movement as Harry turned to raise a concerned eyebrow at him, and he forced his mouth into an uncomfortable smile. Harry looked away.

He had been feeling like this for days now. Feeling like he were setting in a dark room waiting at any moment for something to jump out and take him away. It didn't matter what he was doing; watching TV, writing in his journal, going for a walk: the anxious feeling never went away. His eyes felt heavy, like his lids were trying to drop down off his face. He hadn't been sleeping, and in the few occasions where he had managed to sleep, he had been awoken by horrible nightmares that seemed to alternate between his father, You Know Who, and the return to school.

A door slammed upstairs, and Draco jumped in spite of himself. He could feel Harry's eyes on him again, and he focused all his energy into appearing as though nothing was wrong. Harry still said nothing. Draco allowed his weight to collapse against Harry, resting his head against his shoulder as he stared toward the TV. The smell of his skin and clothing wafted over him like a warm blanket, adding to his sleepiness. He swallowed, hard, past the scratchy soreness in his throat. There were only a few days left…

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about school. The most obvious problem was the Slytherins, of course. Crabbe - at least - had a Death Eater for a father, too, and unlike Draco, he was as invested in it all as dear old dad. And even counting for the non-Death Eater Slytherins, Draco was in for a hell of time. He had denounced his surname, spent the summer living with muggles, and had become friends with Harry fucking Potter in the two months that he was gone. He had fallen for Harry, too.

That the was the next part of school that Draco was dreading. When he had come out to Harry more than a week ago, Harry had admitted to having gay feelings of his own. That was all well and good while they were here, but what was going to happen when they returned to Hogwarts and Harry got to see his love interest again? It was just one more reason for Harry to forget about him, and he - Draco - would be forced to look onward while Harry formed a connection with someone that wasn't him. He wondered who this mystery boy could be.

And even beyond all of that: The Slytherins, Harry and his friends, there was still Snape, and McGonagall, and all of his classes to keep up with. And there was every other student in the entire school who would completely delighted to see him in his fall from grace. It wasn't like he could rightly return to Hogwarts and continue to strut about like a pompous chicken. And what was he supposed to do if he found himself cornered by unfriendly Slytherins? Cry for Harry? No. There was no way any good was going to come out of returning to school… His summer of refuge had come to an end… Harry's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" Draco swallowed again. No, he wasn't.

"I'm fine," he lied. Harry frowned, but didn't push it. Draco felt guilty for lying, but he felt even guiltier when he told the truth. Harry had sacrificed so much this summer in his attempts to make him better, and it felt somehow ungrateful or rude to still be in such an awful state. It looked like he was just stuck this way, and if that was the case, he may as well avoid dragging Harry down with him.

Beneath his sleeves his forearms stung and crawled. Despite the look on Harry's face every time he showed him, he couldn't bring himself to stop cutting. It was like being dragged off against his will, like a _need_ that had to be satisfied or he would never be able to relax. He hoped that Harry wouldn't hate him for this. Admittedly, getting away from Harry had proven difficult lately. This was one of the few areas in which his insomnia came in handy. His vision went black as his eyes began to droop closed again. He pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched.

"I think I'm going to try to take a nap." He mumbled to Harry. Harry offered him a warm smile that sent an icy stab of guilt through his stomach.

"Okay, Draco. Come find me if you need anything." Draco nodded, vaguely and stumbled up the stairs. That time hadn't been a lie: he really _was_ going to try to sleep. He had found that sleeping during the day did a little to stop the nightmares. He reached his room and closed the door by leaning his weight against it. He shuffled across the carpet, collapsed across the covers, and was out cold in a matter of seconds.

When Draco awoke it was in a state of panic. He couldn't remember the dream he had been having, but the feelings of intense fear and pain had lingered past the threshold of the dream. He sniffed, and was unsurprised to find his cheeks dampened with tears. A wave of self-hatred bulleted through him and and sat up and glared at the floor. He couldn't keep doing this. In just a few days, he would be sharing a bedroom with the Slytherins. He was overcome by an involuntary shudder.

Sniffing again, Draco licked his chapped lips. They tasted like blood and sugar. Determination settled inside of him. He tiptoed across the bedroom and opened the door slowly and deliberately. He stuck his head into the hallway and listened closely for any signs of life, and heard none aside from the sound of Dudley playing video games in his bedroom down the hall. Harry's door was closed. Draco backed into the bedroom again and shut the door. This could be his only opportunity.

He crossed the room and opened up the bottom drawer of the dresser. Tucked at the bottom in the very back corner was a lumpy old pair of socks, which Draco took out and unfolded. He allowed the contents to drop into a his hand: a box of shiny new razor blades that he had stolen from the market, and a spoon from Dursley's kitchen.

Checking again to be sure that Harry was in his room and occupied, Draco tiptoed back across the hallway, and closed the bathroom door behind him. Hatred coarsed through him as he performed the ritual; knelt down before the toilet and shoved the spoon down his throat so that he wouldn't scar his fingers. His stomach and throat ached horribly as everything he had eaten was forcefully expelled back out of him. He sputtered, coughed, spit, and flushed. He sat, gasping, on the bathroom floor. His head spun. He stuffed the spoon back into pocket.

Using the toilet and the counter for support, Draco clammered to his feet. The bathroom twisted and tilted a few times before it oriented itself, and he he became aware of the room feeling darker than it should, as though someone had dimmed the lights. He tasted bile in his mouth, and he spit into the sink.

"You're okay." He tried to whisper to himself. He had long passed the point where he believed it. Glancing back in the direction of the door, he pulled out the box of razor blades and took a seat on the lid of the toilet. His heart was racing. Anxiety and fear and self-hatred had built inside of him, closing up his throat. He forced up the sleeves of the hoodie and began slashing indiscriminately at any piece of skin that he could find. Rough, jagged, slashes. He waited longingly for the feeling of release, of relief, but it never came.

Rather than ebb away as it always did, Draco's frantic state began build. A manic horror came over him as he realized that something wasn't working right. Blood began to pour faster and faster, more steadily than it ever had. He kept on slashing, thinking that eventually, somehow, something would kick in and he would calm. His breathing was coming in quick, shallow gasps, now. Catching on something, the blade freed itself from his trembling fingers, and went clinking to the floor.

Draco stared at it. It moved, growing nearer and further from him as the bathroom floor swam beneath him. Blood hit the tile floor in drops, creating little polka-dots there. Alarm bells rang in Draco's mind. He had never bled this much before…

He grasped the bathroom counter, only slightly aware of the red handprint that he left behind. Pain erupted down his entire arm as he drug himself into a standing position. The entire room spun. The lights grew dimmer. He caught his own reflection for just long enough to make eye contact before the lights went out, and the world turned black.


	21. Chapter 21

The sound of the hospital buzzed into Harry's ears like an untuned radio channel. There were beeps and boops and blips and _voices_ , though they said nothing he could comprehend, and as people walked - quickly, with purpose - through the halls, it looked to Harry as though they were blurs of paint, left behind by an impatient artist. He didn't recall ever feeling so panicked or so helpless in his life.

The last hour had whizzed by with the intensity of speeding bludger: He had found Draco on the bathroom and screamed at the top of his voice. He had lurched forward and scooped Draco from the floor and into his lap. He had tried desperately to wake him up while Aunt Petunia screeched for Dudley to call 999.

Dumbledore arrived before the ambulance, and before Harry knew it, they were rushing Draco into St. Mungo's Hospital on a stretcher, and the Healers had taken him away. Harry was so charged with nervous energy that he couldn't bring himself to sit down or even to stand still. He shifted back and forth, from foot to foot, and tried to avoid seeing scenes of the bathroom floor every time he closed his eyes.

This was his fault. He knew it was. What had he been thinking, leaving Draco alone like that when he could tell something wasn't right?

"Harry?" Harry just about jumped out of his skin, and spun around to see Remus standing there, a look of concern etched onto his face.

"Remus!" Harry's brain whirred helplessly as it looked for something else to say, but - as though he were being controlled by someone else - Harry fell forward and enveloped Remus's entire body in a hug. Suddenly, he was sobbing.

"Hey, hey, Harry, shh…" Remus sounded slightly alarmed with Harry's sudden - and tearful - attachment to him. "It's alright, Harry. Professor Dumbledore told me that Draco is going to be fine."

"It's my fault!" Gasped Harry, incoherently. From his position buried into Remus's shirt, all he could see was darkness. In spite of this, he could feel Remus shaking his head in disagreement.

"No, Harry. No, it isn't. Look at me." With some difficulty, Remus peeled Harry off of him, and forced him to make eye contact.

"You are in no way responsible for another person's mental health. No matter what the circumstances." Harry sniffed, picking up his glasses and messily swiping at his eyes.

"I should've told someone." he mumbled. "I shouldn't have been so stupid." Remus looked Harry over sadly.

"You weren't stupid, Harry. You didn't want to betray, Draco, and that in itself is quite noble. Unfortunately the right decision isn't always clear. The world isn't so black and white." Harry took a few deep breaths, slowly regaining his composure.

"I didn't tell him." He said, miserably.

"Tell him what?" Asked Remus, and Harry looked around to see if there was anyone else who might be listening.

"You know..." He said, quietly. "About… about how I feel..." He spat the last part out so quietly that he was surprised when Remus appeared to have heard. When he looked up, there was a bizarre kind of half-smile written on his face that Harry didn't recognize.

"You'll just have to have that conversation when he wakes up, won't you?" Harry felt his stomach drop. Remus was right. After everything that had happened, he couldn't keep lying to Draco about his feelings. Harry was spared having to answer Remus by the arrival of Hermione, followed shortly by Ron. They both hugged Harry, and then turned to look at him, questions on both of their faces.

"Harry what happened? Professor Dumbledore wouldn't tell us anything!" Exclaimed Ron. He looked as though he had panicked when he had been told that Harry was at the hospital. His eyes searched Harry up and down, looking for signs of injury.

"Is… is Malfoy alright?" Asked Hermione, slowly. Her eyes narrowed toward the currents that were currently drawn closed around Draco's bed. Harry chewed on his lower lip and then took another shaky breath. He had some explaining to do to these two, as well.

"Let's find a place to talk," said Harry. "I've got a lot to tell you."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione adjourned to a waiting room down the hall, and - bit by bit - Harry filled the other two in on everything. He started with the morning Draco had arrived, and finished the week before when Harry had told Draco he had been having his own feelings about being gay.

Harry had stopped here, scanning their faces for any signs of shock or disgust, and found none. Hermione looked - if anything - intrigued, and Ron simply gaped as though he had just been told Christmas was in July. When Harry finished, he let out a huge breath and said:

"Blimey, Harry. You've had one hell of a summer." Harry allowed himself to give a slight laugh at this, and turned - expectantly - to Hermione, who broke into a grin.

"You'll have to let me write that romance, novel, Harry. In ten years." Harry's cheeks grow red hot, and he shoved her, lightly.

"Shut it, Hermione. I haven't even told him, yet. I have no idea how he feels…"

"Well you know he's gay, right?" Chimed in Ron, brightly. "You said that, didn't you?" Harry shrugged, entirely unused to talking about this, and slightly put off by how quickly his friends had accepted this bit of news.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the toe of his show awkwardly against the linoleum floor beneath him. "But that doesn't mean he feels… you know… _that_ way about me." Hermione rolled her eyes and exchanged a knowing look with Ron. Harry didn't appreciate this.

"Excuse me! You two didn't even know about this until a half hour ago. You can't go giving each other looks like that like you know something!" To Harry's irritation, Ron and Hermione simply exchanged another knowing glance, and he shot up out of his chair and stalked back down the hallway toward Draco's room. How dare they? They had absolutely _no_ idea if…

"Mr. Potter?" Harry's head snapped up to see a Healer, poking his head out of Draco's hospital room door. "Mr. Malfoy would like to see you." Harry felt his heart jump to his throat.

"He's awake?!" Harry all but sprinted the remaining metres down the hall, and skidded into the room. Draco's curtains were pulled back, and he was propped against a stack of pillows behind him. He was looking blearily at Harry, who almost burst into tears again.

"Hey, stranger." Draco croaked. "Long time no see." Harry rushed to the side of the bed, and sat down in the chair that he had drug there hours ago. He glanced back at the Healers, who discretely backed out of the room.

"Draco, I'm so glad you're okay!" Harry exclaimed, shakily. "You scared the hell out of me!" Draco reached out a hand, supported by a heavily bandaged wrist, and placed it on Harry's cheek.

"I'm okay." he answered, weakly. "I'm alive."

"Alive?" Retorted Harry. His voice was beginning to rise. "Alive? Barely!" He shouted. "I found you on the bathroom floor covered in blood!" He was crying now, and so was Draco. "I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry!" Draco shouted back, through tears. "I didn't mean to!" Harry took a moment to pull himself together and asked - with a sense of forced calm,

"What do you mean 'you didn't mean to'?" Draco took a few shuddering breaths himself and answered, croakily,

"I wasn't trying to k-kill myself. I… I just…. I went too far." Harry let out an indignant sound and bit back a retort about that being the understatement of the year. Instead, Harry said,

"Why?" And he could see Draco's breath freeze. "Why did you do it in the first place?" Draco looked at Harry desperately.

"You've got to understand, Harry!" He pleaded. "It was just too much. School starts in a couple days and… and well…" Harry watched, painfully, as tears welled up in Draco's eyes. "Well, everything is going to change!" He finally wailed. "You'll be back with Granger and Weasley, and I'll be back in the dungeons, and no one will talk to me and… and…" He took a gasping breath. "And I'll be alone!" The dam broke and Draco fell into crying once more.

Harry - startled by the content of Draco's rant - scrambled up onto the bed and flug an arm around the paler boy's thin, bony shoulders. Draco collapsed into Harry's neck and cried. Harry swallowed past a lump, and waited patiently for him to calm down.

When he finally did, he spoke to Draco in a tone of voice that he hoped was both serious and gentle.

"Draco, we talked about this last week, remember? We don't have to end anything!" Draco sat up, his eyes all firey.

"But we do!" He exclaimed. "With all your friends and… and your crush... and…. and your own house mates! How aren't you going to forget about me?" Harry had already opened his mouth to retort when Draco's words fully registered with his brain.

"I… my what?" He asked, thrown off course. "My crush?" Draco blushed and appeared very much as though he hadn't meant to say that part.

"Well… yeah…" Mumbled Draco, as he wiped moisture from his cheeks. "You know… You said you were having gay feelings so… it's gotta be someone at Hogwarts, right?"

Harry stared at Draco. Draco stared back. Harry burst into laughter.

"What?!" Draco asked him, dismayed. "What did I say?" When Harry was finally able to catch his breath, he composed his face, and answered as calmly as he could:

"Draco, I'm sorry. But you're a little bit daft sometimes." A look of affront and indignation slipped across Draco's face, but before he could open his mouth to respond, he was distracted by Harry, who - to his own amazement - had leaned in, and placed his lips on Draco's.

He felt Draco stiffen beneath him in surprise, before he melted into the kiss, reached up, and placed each of his hands on Harry's face. Around Harry, the room melted.

He had stopped shaking for the first time in several hours.

 **Dear readers: I'm sorry for the year delay. I'm terrible at ever finishing what I begin. Thanks to those of you that stuck around for so long! I am determined to finish this story! Please REVIEW; it helps motivate me!**


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